


This One, Book 3 - Road to Rurouni

by theDah



Series: This One [3]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Bakumatsu, Battle of Toba Fushimi, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coping, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hiding in Plain Sight, Historical Characters - Freeform, Historical References, Language, Original Character(s), Poor Life Choices, Second Choshuu Expedition, Secret Identity, Violence, War, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 91,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDah/pseuds/theDah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief can do terrible things to a man. Kenshin lost everything he held dear, but Katsura Kogoro still needs his sword. Can he find the strength to fight once more? How will he survive the turbulent chaos of conflicting ideals, rampant backstabbing and power struggles that define the Bakumatsu?</p><p>Book 3 of This One, Road to Rurouni – in which the last seeds are planted for Himura Kenshin to become the hero we all know and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fan the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> For old readers: welcome back! 
> 
> For new readers: if you are starting from book 3 directly, be advised that this story starts pretty directly where book 2 ended. So if you get confused, the ending of book 2 might give you some answers. Otherwise I am happy to answer your questions! In any case, this is a canon compliant character study that attempts to describe how Kenshin's last three years among Ishin Shishi went. Story kicks of from January 1865 and continues all the way to battle of Toba Fushimi, in January 1868.
> 
> Regarding the historical accuracy, I have tried to portray realistic image of Bakumatsu era, but occasionally I have taken some artistic liberties (for example, Katsura didn't return to Kyoto until 1866 etc.) Sometimes I may have gotten things hilariously wrong, but hopefully those errors are minor. ^^* 
> 
> That being said, please - enjoy the story!

 

 

# Chapter 30.  Fan the flames

 

Kenshin woke up curled on the floor, next to the extinguished fire. The cold and his odd sleeping position had left him stiff and aching, like a crippled old man, but his head felt worse – almost like someone was pounding on his skull with a hammer. Thinking, hell, even _blinking_ hurt. Ugh. Somehow he managed to put together a fresh fire and get some rice and dried fish boiling in the kettle.  

Yet, it was strange.

The ever present anger, the overwhelming feeling of loss and grief didn’t feel as strong, as close to the surface anymore. No, somehow it had been reduced to an almost bearable ache instead of a vortex threatening to pull him under. Oh, the pain was still there. The wounds in his heart had not disappeared, but now he was just _numb_ to it all.

Kenshin sighed, feeling almost relieved. Idly, he stoked the fire with a log, only to notice the charcoal remains on Kasumi’s top.

He stared at it for a moment. The fact was that he couldn’t take everything with him. He didn’t have time to let go properly, either. But this house, it had been his and Tomoe’s paradise. The very thought of someone else touching anything in here, making changes to it – making it theirs… it made him feel ill.

After he had eaten, he took aside his traveling gear, dressed up as warmly as he could, and looked over the house.

No, he truly didn’t want anyone touching it.

This house had been their home. Their happiness, the good memories, the tiny sliver of peace and normal life…everything had been born in here. Maybe he was selfish, but in this one thing he _wanted_ to be. So he piled up their things in the corner; her bedding they had used so many times, her clothes, projects and possessions, and set them all on fire.

Outside, it was a bright day. Fresh snow covered the ground in white like a mourning shroud. Behind his back, smoke puffed out from the doorway of their house, the flames licking its windows, climbing higher towards the straw roof.

The fire spread fast, destroying their paradise and cleansing it through flames.

Yes.

Burn, burn with the rest.

Kenshin turned his back and started to walk.

 

* * *

 

Late that night Kenshin finally made it to Kyoto, where he met up with Katsura-san again. Or more accurately, with Kido-san, because apparently, Katsura Kogoro had disappeared after the Hamaguri gate incident and Kido Takayoshi had risen from the ashes.

It was nothing but a polite fiction, but Kenshin accepted it easily enough. After all, he had known from the start that his leader was a two-faced man who used many names. What did it matter, adding one more to the list? Katsura-san was Katsura-san, no matter which name he chose to use or to which clan he claimed to belong at the moment.

However, he wasn’t even given time to settle down for the night before Katsura-san sent him to visit a doctor, claiming that he looked sick. It was true enough, though Kenshin couldn’t help but wonder what the point was in hurrying. It wasn’t like he was going to die from his injuries, not this long after receiving them.

Neither Katsura-san nor the doctor seemed to agree with this sentiment.

The doctor was especially miffed that the stitches in his shoulders had been left alone for so long. The man unleashed a rather unflattering commentary under his breath about countryside quacks and utter stupidity as he removed Kenshin’s stitches, carefully digging under the healing skin. Because of this mistake in his treatment, the doctor opined, the wounds would scar in remarkably ugly fashion.

Frankly, Kenshin couldn’t care less; as long as he retained the full range of motion in his arms, he could fight. Everything else just didn’t matter.

The doctor’s thorough examination had proved that he was reasonably healthy, if still somewhat anemic. His skin was far too pale according to the doctor and he had been ordered to eat more disgusting foods. The frostbite in his fingers and toes was healing as well as could be expected. However, if he wanted to handle the sword anytime soon, the doctor had firmly insisted that he should tape his fingers carefully to protect the healing skin.

All in all, it was nothing Kenshin hadn’t suspected.

When it came to the cut in his cheek, though, it had closed well. He would always have the scar, made evident by how the fresh wound was now a raised, distinctly reddened line, but it shouldn’t bleed like the first one had. If the old superstition was true, then maybe that meant that Tomoe wasn’t angry at him? He hoped so.

The very next day Kenshin requested money from Katsura-san to arrange a burial place for Tomoe. Katsura-san didn’t even blink before giving him a full purse of money and recommendations of suitable temples. Kenshin checked out a few of them, before choosing a quiet, tranquil little Buddhist temple in Eastern Kyoto named Shoren-in as her resting place.

Under his careful watch, the stone carver engraved the name Himura Tomoe in the grave stone. Every time the chisel hit the stone, his heart throbbed with pain as the reality struck deeper. This is real. This is final. This is the end. However, the stone carver surprised him by inquiring whether he would like _his_ name engraved, too.

“It’s easier and cheaper to engrave both names at the same time,” the stone carver explained matter-of-factly. “Most people want to prepare their resting place next to their loved ones, so it’s even a common request. We just paint the living spouse’s name in red.”

It was like his heart was torn open again and for a moment, Kenshin just stared ahead blindly, sorely tempted by the offer. Yes, if he were to die, he would want to rest beside Tomoe. There was no place he would rather be. But these past two weeks, he had spent far too many hours dreaming of death, yearning for the relief it would bring.

If Tomoe knew, she would be _furious_ about it.

“No,” Kenshin found himself whispering, stroking the diary he had hidden in his kimono folds, over his heart. “Thank you for the offer, but… I think my wife would never forgive me if I made preparations for my death.”

“I see.” The stone carver nodded respectfully.

The gravestone was erected on a small plot in the corner of the graveyard, near the courtyard maple trees. In solemn silence, Kenshin watched the monk go through his rituals and bless her rest. After the ceremony, he simply sat there for many long hours, keeping the incense burning as he thought of better times.

It was only when the sun was setting that he climbed to his shaking feet, bowed to her respectfully, and left with the promise to return again.

Despite the fact that Kenshin was not even close to good fighting condition, Katsura-san requested he stay by his side as a bodyguard. Apparently, Katsura-san hadn’t been back to the capital for long and he desperately needed to get back in the thick of things.

It was all-around logical and Kenshin couldn’t exactly say he minded the duty, especially as he wasn’t expected to do anything more than stay close to Katsura-san, sit in on meetings, and escort him around town. However, protecting an important man like Kido-san wasn’t something just any shabbily-dressed country bumpkin could do, and so Kenshin had found himself outfitted again with better clothing: a formal, thick silk kimono and hakama, and a haori overcoat with Kido’s crest on it, to signify his status as a close retainer.

Kenshin hadn’t bothered to protest any of it, he just couldn’t summon enough energy to care, leaving all decisions to Katsura-san. So he got fancy clothes, a couple sets of more discreet, everyday wear, new gauntlets to protect his healing hands, and finally, he was sent to visit Katsura-san’s favored swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, to refit the worn parts of his katana.

The swordsmith replaced the entirely of his sword’s hand-guard and grip, as the ray-leather and silk had been bloodied and hardened beyond reasonable repair. The blades on the other hand… well, the swordsmith had sharpened them and oiled them as was proper, but hadn’t held back his disapproving frowns and criticism, especially after Kenshin confessed that his swords had been left in their sheaths covered in blood and snow – after that day in the forest, they had never been cleaned.

The swordsmith’s harsh reprimands were entirely justified.

In a way, Kenshin had even liked how the swordsmith had flat out detailed each and every one of his mistakes. No matter how it stung, it was easing, almost relaxing to be told what a failure of a swordsman he was. The blade was the soul of a swordsman, and it needed to be cared for. Properly chastised, Kenshin bought a new sword cleaning set and bowed in thanks to the swordsmith, a low and respectful gesture.

It was only proper… and these days, Kenshin had found some measure of comfort in polite routines. After all, the etiquette expected of samurai allowed him to keep people at a distance. He didn’t even need to talk or meet people’s eyes very often, not when polite gestures eased the way. And Tomoe, well, she had been a proper lady. She had tried her best to teach him better manners to the best of her capabilities.

Kenshin knew he was just a country bumpkin with a spotty education, but now that he found himself spending countless hours in Katsura-san’s meetings with important men, he kept his eyes and ears open.

It was especially interesting to hear old men from the provincial clans speak. These dignified samurai of high rank, the way they addressed themselves or others, how their phrasings had an old fashioned, almost archaic grace... it kept drawing his attention. It wasn’t just how formal it sounded, but the exceptional _humility_ in their chosen words. They didn’t address themselves boldly like young men, nor did they choose to use any of the politer phrasing he had heard Katsura-san using – no, these men said s _essha, “this unworthy one.”_

The expression kept sticking in his mind, like a parasitic wasp digging under his skin. He wasn’t a samurai, he had never been. But somehow, there was comfort and even beauty in the manners of samurai; he had admired it for the longest time, in Tomoe… and even before, when he had seen Master shake off his gruff temper and treat people with respect.

Besides, for the moment, everyone expected him to behave like a samurai. For them, it wouldn’t be out of the question if he chose to use old-fashioned phrasings. At most, it would seem a little bit odd, but he had been always been odd.

And… it fit.

He was not only himself anymore, but rather him and Kenta together. And if nothing else, he was _unworthy_. So he picked it up and started to use it in the rare cases when his words were required.

Katsura-san took notice of it with a raised brow, but didn’t comment on it.

The Ishin Shishi in the Capital had broken into dozens of little groups during their absence, supporters and extremists all with somewhat different views. During that first month, it seemed that all Katsura-san was doing was running from one meeting to the next, trying to garner favor and settle people’s quarrels, reminding them they were all fighting against a common enemy.

Apparently, Takasugi-san was doing the very same work back in Choshuu, albeit with more direct methods. There was a proper civil war among the samurai in their home province.

Kenshin offered to go there and assist in the fighting. Surely he would be of more use there than here, sitting behind Katsura-san and fiddling his thumbs? Katsura-san, however, didn’t agree with his logic, saying that he was needed in Kyoto. Exactly how he was in any way necessary to Katsura’s goals remained unclear… until one perfectly ordinary meeting between upper ranked Ishin Shishi.

“At Hamaguri gate, we lost face. Not only Choshuu, but the whole Ishin Shishi movement. That defeat made us look unappealing and our goals seem too radical, too reckless. Then the Bakufu took their revenge on us. They have hunted down everyone suspected of rebel ties… and there is fear in the air,” Katsura-san said softly, taking a moment to trail his gaze across everyone’s eyes. “We need to rise above that fear.”

“That is true enough, Kido-san. But how do you propose to do that? We have some of our samurai and ronin in hiding, living under false identities or situated under friendly roofs… but the public opposes us. Our hideouts are raided, our men hunted as criminals. We _need_ more support.”   

“We have all the support we could need, right here,” Katsura-san said firmly. “The public doesn’t love the Bakufu, it _fears_ it. We can become righteous heroes fighting for freedom once again, but to do that… we need legends to our cause, strong fighters who will lure others to our banner and showcase our strength.”  

A torrent of disbelieving scoffs and raised brows followed that statement.

“And where do you think you can find us someone like Okita Souji, the demon child? Or Saito Hajime, the wolf of Mibu? Hijikata Toshizo?” one particularly skeptic man said, shaking his head in exasperation. “All you have is that new man Shishio and I can tell you right now that no one has ever heard of him. He might have the skills, but he has no fame. He is efficient, but nothing to sing tales of. To create a legend from nothing, it's too much work at too high a risk.”

“The name Hitokiri Battousai is still spoken with fear,” Katsura-san replied calmly.

Kenshin’s eyes widened in surprise. _So that’s why…_ He hid his eyes behind his long bangs and clenched his fists in his hakama, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He couldn’t say he liked where this conversation was heading, but if Katsura-san wanted to use the unfortunate fame he had garnered before… if it was for the cause, if it was necessary, then yes, he would do it.

A quick glance in Katsura-san’s direction made it clear that his leader knew it, too. There was no hesitation, no doubts on his leader’s face. His back was ramrod straight as he knelt in dignified seiza, one step to Kenshin’s right and two steps forward.  

“Battousai? He disappeared after the Ikeda-ya. I thought he was dead!”

“Kido-san… you say you have Battousai?”

Katsura-san nodded once but didn’t say more. There was no need to because after that a conversation spurred forth.

“Battousai… that could work, but not as a hero,” one samurai murmured thoughtfully. “After all, the rumors paint your Hitokiri as a vicious murderer. But to raise fear amidst the Bakufu? To showcase our strength? Yes, I believe it could work.”

“Hmm, it has potential,” another samurai agreed. “But to make it happen, we would need to control the situation and get the rumors flowing in our favor. Kido-san, this Battousai character… is he truly strong enough of a swordsman for this? We have all heard the tales, but those must have been heavily exaggerated. No swordsman can take a target and six bodyguards alone with ease, nor cut through chain vests and swords raised to block.”   

“Of course the rumors are exaggerated! That’s the way rumors go. People add to them with every retelling to make the story even more impressive. I heard a version where Battousai was so fast no man could see him!”

“Oh, I heard that one too!”

“And what was up with the Battoujutsu thing? I seriously doubt the legitimacy of that, too. What’s the point in using a dueling strike that often? It’s foolish. No swordsman would use it in a fight against multiple opponents except as an opening strike.”

Kenshin listened to the conversation with bewildered interest. These high-ranked Choshuu Ishin Shishi were mostly newer, younger men. They had managed to avoid forced seppuku by the grace of not having been important enough… most of these men had never heard more than the public about Hitokiri Battousai. Oh wait, there was one older samurai that Kenshin had seen before, long before the Ikeda-ya disaster.

He was a dignified, bald man with a long white beard. Ito-san was his name, if Kenshin remembered right, and a mischievous smirk tugged at the older man’s lips when their eyes met.  

Then one of the younger men in attendance whispered a bit too loudly to his contemporary, “Ha! I bet Kido-san doesn’t even have Battousai anymore. Runaway Kogoro is just trying to raise his own status by promoting another man into the legend. It’s pathetic. Look at his bodyguard, too. At least the old one, Katagai-san, looked like a man fit for duty.”

Ito-san was sitting close enough to hear the spiteful comments too, and he coughed pointedly, cutting through the conversation like a hot knife through rice paste.

Silence filled the room.

“Nakamura-san, would you care to repeat what you just said?” Ito-san asked wryly. “If you have a valid reason to doubt Kido-san’s words, I believe we would all benefit from hearing it.”

Then the younger man, Nakamura-san, tensed, before standing up and shooting a hard look at Katsura-san, filled with loathing. “I am not afraid to speak my mind,” he scoffed, obvious disdain in his voice. “Kido-san, I call your bluff. You are a weak man. A coward, who’s trying to bury his failures and take over the Choshuu Ishin Shishi once more. Under your leadership, the Ikeda-ya disaster struck and many of our comrades died. The Hamaguri gate incident was your failure as well. But now you are back among us and speak of your Hitokiri, a man who was never more than a fairy tale for the feeble-minded, as the answer to our problems?”

Nakamura spat on the floor.

Every man in the room stared at Nakamura, before turning to look at Katsura-san, waiting for his answer. Katsura-san didn’t even blink. It was as if the tense silence didn’t bother him at all.

Kenshin though, he was getting annoyed on his leader’s behalf. His heart picked up a beat, shivers raced across his skin as the tense silence stretched on. If this came to blows, he would defend Katsura-san, there was no question of that. He hid his eyes and swallowed, tracing his fingers along the hilt of his sword.

“The Choshuu Ishin Shishi needs new leadership, a reliable man to lead it,” Nakamura declared. “How will we rise again if this weak, cowardly failure with empty words takes the reigns again? Look at him! With his new name through adoption, he tries to shave away his failures. He is not a warrior strong enough to lead. He hasn’t even lifted his sword in years. In fact, look! It’s tied with peace knots!”

The claim was true, Kenshin noted with some surprise. He knew Katsura-san was a capable swordsman in his own right, but for some reason, his leader had secured the hand guard of his katana to its scabbard with intricate knots made out of delicate string. Of course, that fancy knot wouldn’t stop a determined draw… no, it was even stranger than that; it looked like the knot was designed to _give in_ if pulled. Why? What was the point then?

Finally, when it was obvious Nakamura was done, Katsura-san answered, “I swore two years ago that I would never draw my sword again. I haven’t done so. I have no need to.”

The declaration sparked turmoil amongst the audience, but Nakamura grinned as if he had just won something. Almost gleefully, he boasted, “This is our leader? Ha!”

“If you doubt my words, my leadership… I invite you to attempt to kill me,” Katsura-san san said pleasantly. “Please, by all means – attack me.”  

 _…What?_ Kenshin gaped in shock.

But Katsura-san was utterly serene, staring at Nakamura without an ounce of fear.  

 _…Well, of course, he would have no fear. He isn’t the one who has to draw his blade against one of our own, but… oh, wait. So that’s what he wants!_ Kenshin’s eyes widened in realization. Katsura-san had lost face, credibility. If even their own allies didn’t trust his word, he needed to show them undeniable _proof_.

“I think I will take your offer,” Nakamura smirked and stepped forward, his hand on his sword.

These men, none of them knew him. They only saw a sickly, odd-looking young man whom Katsura-san had taken as his bodyguard for no apparent reason. If Katsura-san wanted to use Battousai’s reputation, the work would need to start here.

So Kenshin concentrated his ki, the freezing coldness inside him, and felt the world slow to a halt.

Nakamura had started his charge, his strike aimed to slash Katsura-san open from the junction of his neck all the way across his chest. It was the basic scarf cut, deadly if it landed, but oh so predictable and easy to block.  

Kenshin sprinted, dodging Nakamura’s strike and stepping inside his guard, whipping out his sword in a quick draw – only to stop his blade at the last possible second. The sharp steel of his sword rested on the soft, vulnerable skin of Nakamura’s throat, close enough that even a minuscule movement might spill blood.

Nakamura’s eyes shot open as wide as saucers…

Shouts and screams of alarm echoed in the room as everyone scrambled in shock.

Sweat gathered on Nakamura’s brow as his mouth fell open in sheer fright, and then a whiff of disgusting smell caught Kenshin’s nose.

Ah, a true coward.

“I have no need to draw my blade, Nakamura-san,” Katsura-san’s voice remarked dryly behind them. “That is because Himura-san has pledged his to my cause. You would be surprised to know that in his earlier work for me, he developed the habit of using _battoujutsu_ at every opportunity.”

A stunned silence settled in the room.

Then Ito-san burst into laughter, his loud guffaws breaking the tense mood. “Maybe Himura-san has demonstrated your point clearly enough, Kido-san?”

“Indeed,” Katsura-san agreed softly.

Without another word, Kenshin nodded, sheathed his katana, and offered a respectful bow to Katsura-san. As he returned to his seat, Katsura-san inclined his head to him in approval.

It felt remarkably good.

After that, ah, _demonstration_ so to speak, Katsura-san didn’t have any difficulties in convincing the other rebels of the merits of his idea. For the rest of the meeting, the men worked out a plan on how to re-introduce Hitokiri Battousai to Kyoto’s rumor mill, and how to start building up his reputation as best suited the Ishin Shishi’s goals. In the end, the plan they came up was this: they would discreetly leak information about a rebel meeting to the Kyoto Mimawarigumi, and Kenshin would be there to secure the rebels’ escape and kill those who tried to pursue them, preferably using his signature battoujutsu.

It was a simple and effective concept.

Kenshin didn’t doubt that he could do it and thankfully, neither did the others after what had happened with Nakamura. Apparently, he had moved faster than the eye could see; one moment he had been sitting beside Katsura-san, and the next, he was holding his blade to Nakamura’s throat. It seemed somewhat ridiculous to Kenshin – he hadn’t even tried that hard, but… well, Hiten Mitsurugi was known for its godlike speed. He didn’t think it was faster than the eye, but then again, he hadn’t seen it himself, not really. Master had always held back during their sparring matches.

Speaking of Nakamura, the boastful samurai had left the meeting early in disgrace.

The meeting finally wrapped up late in the night, plans agreed on and preparations set in motion. They were walking back to their current safe-house, when Katsura-san asked him quietly, “Are your wounds alright?”

Kenshin nodded curtly, even if he felt somewhat baffled by the concern. It had been six weeks since the New Year’s tragedy. Sure, his shoulders were still stiff, his fingers were sore… but it was not enough to stop him from handling the sword. However, this wasn’t the first time Katsura-san had asked a question like this, either… Was there a problem? Had he somehow displeased his leader?

If so, Katsura-san didn’t show any outward hint of it, not in his body language nor his ki. Kenshin frowned but left the matter drop. After all, if Katsura-san didn’t feel the need to inquire further, why should he?

The fact was that he wasn’t even close to his best fighting condition yet. The five months in the countryside had caused him to slip off his peak form, and the damned frostbite had taken away his callouses. He had been stretching and doing katas every morning and evening, trying to get back into shape. For this work… for a war, he needed to be at his best, no matter how little enjoyment he found in swordsmanship these days.

During what few free hours he had, Kenshin had taken to reading _her_ journal, trying to ward off the nightmares and the recurring bouts of emotion that constantly threatened to shatter the calm numbness he had drawn around himself by merging with Kenta. No matter what he did, sometimes he would just get angry for no apparent reason, or remember something of her and then be swallowed up by self-loathing and guilt. He had visited her grave a few times, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. He just missed her so much. So much.

And she was not there anymore.

Sometimes he would get lost in his memories. Those were the only moments of peace he got, so when he wasn’t needed, he tried his best to avoid people, to get a chance to drift off in daydreams instead of enduring reality. He wasn’t lonely, not really. He just… didn’t want to speak to anyone. The numbness had eased most of the overwhelming emotions and helped him to keep thinking, to not be lost completely.

But still, it was hard to keep going.

 

* * *

 

“Listen up lads! Tonight’s game plan is very simple,” Ito-san shouted. “Like you know, our little birds have let our location slip into the Mimawarigumi’s attentive ears. Those posh dogs are eager for fame, so you know they won’t let this chance pass them by. We don’t know how many men there will be, so be on guard!”

Every man in the room perked up, anticipation spreading through them like wildfire.

They were in a remote house in eastern Kyoto and other than him, Ito-san and six other Choshuu samurai were waiting to spring the trap. Ito-san had been chosen as bait, because he was well-known and influential enough that the Mimawarigumi had a warrant out for him. The others, well… Kenshin didn’t know them at all, but he had sized them up and believed them to be experienced and trusted fighters, who were intended to be his backup if things went south. Afterwards, they would be used to spread word of Hitokiri Battousai to other Choshuu men.

However, it was obvious that they didn’t know this… yet. At least if the nasty glances they were shooting at him were anything to go by.

“Yes, lads. There might be a good scuffle coming,” Ito-san confirmed. “However, we are not here to fight. Instead, when we see them coming – we run. Head to Kawaramachi’s meeting place.”

This raised notable signs of displeasure among the men.

Ito-san only laughed. “No, no, don’t be so disappointed! The goal here is to get Himura-san back in action. He has been on a little break, so if he has troubles, which I doubt, knowing his capabilities... you will be there as the backup.”

If possible, the looks the men shot him became even nastier. Kenshin didn’t try to defend himself. So what if these men had doubts? So what if they didn’t believe a short and sickly-looking man like him could actually fight? Kenshin knew what he could do and what he could not. These men didn’t know him, they had never seen him fight. It didn’t matter what they thought. The only thing that mattered was that Katsura-san had asked him to do this and if it worked as planned… it could help the cause.

Still, it was almost amusing when finally, one of the men recognized him as Katsura-san’s newest bodyguard. That wasn’t a duty Kenshin minded being known for.

Then they waited.

Kenshin settled against the wall, his katana propped against his shoulder at an easy reach. It was a comfortable pose, even if the wakizashi on his belt sat somewhat awkwardly. They needed to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.

After all, they didn’t know _when_ the Mimawarigumi would attack, and they weren’t even certain that they would take the bait at all… but they had prepared the best they could. The only thing they could do now was to be patient. Kenshin closed his eyes and focused on the ki presences moving around them in the streets.

It had been a while since he had actively tried to use ki, but after merging with the spirit… everything seemed sharper, more defined. It was easier to use ki like this. Somehow, even the internal ki-enhancement trick seemed to work better. It truly was as Kenta had said, they were better together.

Tomoe’s diary was securely tucked in his kimono folds, just over his heart – no matter how stupid it might be. He just needed to have something of hers with him. He hadn’t dared to take the shawl, as it might get dirty in this work, instead leaving it at the Choshuu supporter’s house where he had been staying with Katsura-san this past week.

Katsura-san changed hiding places every few days. The situation was still highly unpredictable at best and Katsura-san’s position in the Ishin Shishi’s ranks was anything but stable. Perhaps that was the reason Katsura-san was so determined to keep him close? Not that Kenshin exactly minded the protection duty… it was just that it would be easier if he could be alone, that was all.

Among normal Choshuu men, it would take barely any effort to be left alone. He could sit in his corner as long as he wanted, skip as many meals as he wanted, and no one would care. But Katsura-san, he always seemed to need his attention or his company in one way or another, dragging him to places and forcing him to attend good meals that he absolutely couldn’t skip if he didn’t want to mortally insult the proprietors.

Kenshin sighed softly.

Just yesterday he had visited _her_ gravestone again. It had been raining, the last of the winter rains. Soon it would be spring. He didn’t miss the snow, not at all. In fact, every time he saw anything white these days, his mind automatically painted blood on it. The brown and muddy scenery suited him far better. However, it had been sad to see her grave looking so desolate. Maybe he should bring flowers when they became available? He had never brought her flowers, even when she had been alive.

 _What a failure of a husband I was…_ Kenshin thought morosely. _She loved flowers._

At the edges of his reach, large numbers of ki presences were approaching. They were moving in formation, an organized troop that couldn’t be anything other than what they had been waiting for. Kenshin cleared his voice, before speaking softly, “Ito-san, they are coming.”

The old, white-bearded samurai didn’t question him. Instead, he nodded with determination and raised his voice, “Alright, boys! You heard Himura-san. Let’s get ready to run. The last thing we want is to get stuck in an indoor fight!”

Everyone stood up and though there were some mutters and glares directed at Kenshin, he didn’t pay them any attention. He slipped his katana into his sash and rechecked the wrappings around his fingers. His skin was still prone to break when stressed.. and it was quite chilly outside, this late at night. It was better to be safe than sorry. The last thing he needed was to lose a few fingers through carelessness, then he would be useless on top of being a failure.  

“They crossed the street,” whispered the samurai watching the window.

Then the door was slammed with force and a shout rang out, “We are the Kyoto Mimawarigumi! Surrender and no one will be harmed!”

Ito-san grinned and made a shooing motion with his hands. The men grinned too, before charging out of the side door into the alley, shouting, “Protect Ito-san!” “Hurry! We need to get to safety!” “Don’t let them catch us!”

It was quite a convincing ruse, Kenshin thought. He was the last to leave the house, lingering just enough to make sure the Mimawarigumi men saw where they had escaped, and then, they ran.

Mimawarigumi screamed at them to stop, to surrender – the usual foolishness. Why did they even bother? Everyone knew that the Bakufu troops weren’t shy about torturing or executing prisoners.

The merry chase lasted for a while and it even seemed that they were too efficient in their escape because the Mimawarigumi squadron was breaking up, the fastest runners in front, the rest lagging behind, but still, the distance between them was growing.

But then, Ito-san signaled at them to stop. It was a good place, a remote side alley that was narrow enough for Kenshin to defend alone.

“Surrender, rebels! If you come quietly, no one will have to die!” the de-facto leader of the Mimawarigumi squadron shouted. He was a proper samurai, tall and broad-shouldered. His ki was firm and steady.

Kenshin noted it all calmly, stepping forward, a hand on the hilt of his sword. Behind him, he heard the rest of the rebels surround Ito-san protectively.

“Please, withdraw now… or prepare to lose your lives,” Kenshin said softly. Maybe it wasn’t what anyone expected of him, but now that he could, he wanted to give these men the chance to save themselves.

“That is not possible, rebel scum.” Mimawarigumi leader’s ki sharpened in anger and he growled, “Attack them!”

And then they came, all of them charging at him with their swords at the ready.

It didn’t matter.

Kenshin concentrated his ki… and the world slowed to a halt.

Quick draw, dodge and cut, dodge and cut.

It was so _easy_.

And though these men were well-trained and experienced, though they had numbers and strength on their side, he was just too fast. Quick draw, a flick of the wrist to rid his blade of the excess blood, re-sheathe and a lighting fast draw once again. Rinse and repeat. Perhaps it was stupid and illogical, but he wanted their death be as clean and close to painless as he was capable of giving.

He had cut down most of them and was just about to charge the last one… when all of a sudden a spike of pain flared behind his eyes, so sudden and violent that he stumbled and fell down on one knee.

The pain didn’t relent, it twisted like a knife inside his skull and his stomach lurched, about to rebel. But he couldn’t give up! So he gritted his teeth together and grunted, sprinting to the last man and cutting him open from left hip to right shoulder.

The blood splayed all over, the bone and flesh separating just like that day in the forest…

_No! Don’t think of that, anything but that!_

He dropped to his knees and let his sword fall to the cobblestones, burying his aching head in his hands. The pain, oh god, it was flaring still – spots of light danced across his eyes as the bile threatened to climb up his throat. _No, I won’t throw up! I won’t!_

Once, twice, thrice, he swallowed time and time again, trying to steady himself. _Yes, that’s right, just breathe. In and out, yes, you can do this._

“Himura-san, are you alright?” A gentle hand stroked his shoulder.

Kenshin opened his eyes blearily and looked up between his lashes. It was Ito-san… the old man was worried? He couldn’t even hope to answer, not through this pain and nausea. The best he managed was to weakly wave his hand.

Ito-san stayed beside him, stroking his shoulder comfortingly until the pain reduced to an almost manageable throbbing, and he managed to climb to his feet. The rest of the rebels had already left, leaving them alone amidst the corpses of the ten Mimawarigumi samurai.

“I sent the rest of the lads to Kawaramachi. They can get to their accommodations from there,” Ito-san said calmly, like there was nothing strange about this.

Kenshin couldn’t quite find the words, but he tilted his head in question and glanced in the direction where their men had gone.

Ito-san didn’t have any trouble understanding his question. The old man shook his head. “I think I will walk with you to Kido-san’s. I want to report our success to him. Besides, seeing how pale you are, it might be good to have someone with you.”

An embarrassed flush crept onto his cheeks, and Kenshin looked aside. He had no idea what that sudden spike of pain had been, but all the same, he was grateful for the offer. He really didn’t feel all that steady yet.

Thankfully Ito-san didn’t feel the need to question him more.

Katsura-san was currently staying near the river in Okikucho, no more than a couple miles walk from where they were. There was no blood on Kenshin’s clothes, which eased the trip – there was no need for them to stick to the shadows and avoid wandering eyes. For all intents and purposes, they were simply two samurai on a stroll through town, not worth noting.

They had just passed the bridge, when Ito-san asked, “I suppose you use ki to enhance your swordsmanship?”

“Yes, ” said Kenshin, looking at the old man in surprise. How had he known?

“I have seen some men enhance their swords with it, to cut deeper, or sharper, but never have I witnessed it used like you do,” Ito-san wondered out loud, before he noticed Kenshin’s stare and scoffed, “Oh lad, don’t look so surprised! Live as long as I have, have a lifelong curiosity about the sword, and you learn a thing or two.”

Kenshin looked aside, properly chastised. It wasn’t like ki was entirely unknown; many swordsmen used it intuitively, to sense their opponents, to read their emotions and predict their actions. Actually, some even called ki _intuition_ , because that was the most common use for it. As far as Kenshin was aware, only Hiten Mitsurugi demanded its use internally, to enhance the swordsman’s power and speed.

But this headache thing… it was confusing. Kenshin frowned worriedly. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to ask? He wetted his lips and hesitantly admitted, “There was this flash of intense pain behind one’s eyes. This unworthy one hasn’t ever felt anything like that during a fight, that he hasn’t.”

“To use ki like that, it could be dangerous,” Ito-san mused thoughtfully.

Well, it was true enough. Kenshin knew the dangers of the internal ki enhancement trick, he had made mistakes with it before. But that had been a long time ago, when he was still a child, just learning to use ki with the spirit…

_…but Kenta isn’t here to use it with me anymore._

“I don’t know much about ki myself, but to use anything as powerful, unpredictable, and wild as ki… I would imagine using too much or not focusing properly could cause troubles.” Ito-san paused, before adding pointedly, “But that cannot be the problem as you are clearly very experienced with ki, yes?”   

Kenta had been always there to help him control the amount of ki they used, but after their merging, he had become faster and stronger… maybe it meant that his control wasn’t good enough anymore? And speaking of which, hadn’t he felt headaches before, when Kenta had stayed with him too long?

Kenshin sighed with relief, and stopped to bow gratefully. “Thank you for your advice, Ito-san. This unworthy one knows now what happened.”

“Well, I’m happy to be of assistance.” Ito-san nodded. “It wouldn’t do for the famous Battousai to have difficulties with his task. After all, there will be plenty of work coming for all of us if we want to regain our influence in the Capital.”  

It was the harsh truth. Kenshin nodded his agreement, but didn’t continue the conversation.

The river was flowing beside them fast and strong; the snow must have melted in the mountains. Lanterns illuminated the pathway, glimmering on the water’s surface prettily. The stars were bright in the night sky.

 _She_ had like the stars. The odd thought raised a fierce longing in Kenshin’s heart once more. What wouldn’t he give to have her here beside him to see them!

They made it to the gate of the inn in comfortable silence, but instead of farewells, Ito-san had one more question for him. “Before we head in, I have to know… why the quick draw?”

“It’s the fastest death this unworthy one can offer them, a small kindness,” Kenshin replied evenly, before bowing to the older man. “Thank you for your company, Ito-san.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 27.05.2016.


	2. Preparation against the impossible

# Chapter 31. Preparation against the impossible

 

In the days that followed Kenshin tested the internal ki-enhancement trick while he did his kata. He needed to find out what was causing his sudden headache; was it truly caused by using too much ki, or because of shabby control?

However, despite some trying, he couldn’t figure out much.

It could be both or neither.

As a matter of fact, the _only_ thing he learned from these experiments was that if he used ki for too long, pain would flare just behind his eyes. It was a sharp, stabbing sensation that would scramble his sight and balance, and stir unrelenting nausea at the pit of his stomach… and if he continued using ki regardless? Then bright or colorful spots would bloom in front of his field of vision and _stay_ there for _hours_.

Sure, Kenshin would be the first person to admit that it would be dangerous if any of these things happened to him in the middle of a fight, but the thing was… he didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do about it. Well, except train more, but then again, training for no other reason than to cause himself inevitable pain seemed pointless. He would figure out a solution to this little problem someday. Of course he would, but for the moment, it just didn’t seem very essential. If he kept his ki usage brief and killed his targets quickly, then it wasn’t a problem, now was it? And if nothing else, he had always been fast.

Unfortunately, Ito-san’s report to Katsura-san had included all the details of the incident… even details Kenshin wasn’t sure his leader necessarily needed to know, and as a result, Katsura-san had become worried. Katsura-san had even suggested that he should take some time off to figure out a solution, or even seek outside advice about his dilemma. Katsura-san theorized that there might be someone, perhaps an older, more experienced swordsman or monk who would have some idea about ki-related trouble.

However, despite the good intentions behind the suggestion… Kenshin dismissed his leader’s concerns as best he could. Even as a child, his way of using ki had been unique. Even Master had never truly understood it. And if his Master, the one person in the world who knew more about Hiten Mitsurugi than Kenshin, had let him figure out internal ki-enhancement by himself, what were the chances that someone who used ki for an entirely different purpose would have any advice for him?

Besides, Kenshin could figure out a solution to this alone. It was just a matter of time and dedication. It would have been easier if he had Kenta to rely on… but that help was out of his reach forever. There was no point in wondering about the impossible. So what if he had a tiny problem? So did everyone else! Their trouble just didn’t include a matter so obscure that most people thought it belonged to the realm of fairy-tales and myths.

Katsura-san finally accepted his point of view, and let the matter rest. They had more pressing concerns now that they had received news of Takasugi-san’s victory in Choshuu’s civil war. After all, everyone knew that the Bakufu couldn’t let such a threat to their power stand – it was only a matter of _when_ and _how_ they would respond.

On the sixth day of the third month, the Bakufu announced that it would be marching to Choshuu to take control of the province by force, if the rebellious activities didn’t cease at once.

The threat of war made Katsura-san extremely worried.

Kenshin didn’t have any trouble understanding why. The Bakufu had the public’s support and the loyalty of a majority of provinces… if given enough time, they could gather an army hundreds of thousands of men strong. What could a lone Choshuu do against such force?

That day, it truly felt like the rebellion was doomed.

However, a couple weeks after that announcement, Katsura-san received a request for a meeting in a neutral location from one Sakamoto Ryoma, a lower ranked samurai from Tosa.

Understably, Katsura-san was puzzled, but in the end, he agreed to the meeting. Apparently, he knew this fellow from his youth in Edo. Back then, he had even crossed blades with this Sakamoto-san in a sparring match.

It didn’t sound like the worst possible basis for meeting someone, but it wasn’t the best either. After all, Sakamoto-san hadn’t divulged why he wanted to meet Katsura-san out of the blue. Kenshin couldn’t help but be wary when they finally met this fairly young, friendly, and outspoken samurai. Despite his open manners, the swords Sakamoto-san carried were not there merely for decoration. Every motion he made, how he stood and walked – hell, even his firm, strong ki _screamed_ experience with swordsmanship.

 _That is not a good sign… what if he is an assassin?_ Kenshin frowned, suspiciously trailing his fingers over his own blade.

Sakamoto-san noted his presence with a thin smile, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he turned to address Katsura-san with boisterous cheer, “So Kido-san, I hear you and the Choshuu Ishin Shishi have some trouble coming your way.”

“True enough,” agreed Katsura-san non-noncommittally.

Sakamoto-san wasn’t deterred by the cold welcome. “Well, then I better get straight to the point, shouldn’t I? I remember you as a level-headed analyst. So, what would you say Choshuu needs to be able to win this upcoming conflict?

“Many things,” Katsura-san frowned thoughtfully. “Public support, a stronger army… and influence that could reduce the Bakufu’s forces.”

Sakamoto-san grinned. “I cannot help you with the public, or with the politics. I hear that’s more your area anyways. You are a clever and ruthless politician; you know where and when to push to make the weaker domains back away from this mess.” The samurai rubbed his chin slowly, his eyes glimmering with shrewd intelligence. “But just like you said, Choshuu needs a stronger army. I understand that your friend Takasugi-san has made some advances on that front, equipping his troops with western weapons and discipline… even if he has had some troubles with the supply.”

Katsura-san raised his brow, but didn’t say more.

The thing was, even Kenshin had heard of Takasugi-san’s trouble purchasing Western weaponry for the Kiheitai. In Choshuu, many despised foreigners and that widespread, antagonistic attitude had gained them a bad reputation among Western traders. This was a long standing issue, especially now that it was becoming clear that Western weaponry was the key to evening the odds against the Bakufu’s greater numbers. As unfortunate as it was, Choshuu was a lone wolf without support. If they couldn’t get enough men, they _needed_ a stronger army.

So why had Sakamoto-san brought up this sore point?

 _He can’t claim to have a solution, or could he?_ Kenshin narrowed his eyes, curious despite himself.

Sakamoto-san seemed to be entirely unconcerned by their scrutiny. He puffed at his nails in an outrageously pleased gesture, before looking up and suggesting lightly, “It is indeed a dilemma, but what if… I could arrange a meeting for you, with someone who has the necessary trade contacts with the West?”

“I would be happy to participate in such a meeting.” Katsura-san allowed, but his expression was carefully schooled in neutrality.

It raised chills on Kenshin’s skin. Why was Katsura-san so hesitant? Why was Sakamoto-san even circling around the issue like this?

“Of course you are. That’s what I was counting on.” Sakamoto-san nodded. “But would that still be the case… if there was some bad blood between you and the other party?”

Katsura-san paused, the fingers of his left hand’s curling into a fist on his knees. It was a subtle gesture, one that Kenshin had noticed his leader made only when he was truly vexed. Then Katsura-san inclined his head, “Yes. Even if they were my worst enemies, for this matter… I would be willing to negotiate.”

“I knew it. Kido-san, you truly are a remarkable man! ” Sakamoto-san let out a hearty laugh, all the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he grinned, “Let’s say, next month… the tenth, in Kisshoin Ishihara?”

“That is doable,” Katsura-san agreed. “How many guest are you bringing?”

“Myself and two others.”  

“Then… I would like to bring my bodyguard to even the numbers, as it were,” Katsura-san demanded calmly.

Kenshin blinked, somewhat taken aback. What was this about? He had never heard Katsura-san make such a demand. Even when surrounded by stark opposition, Katsura-san never seemed to lose his cool, so this demand was… strange, to say the least. Except if, well, if there was some bad blood between the participants, the situation could become dangerous enough to merit a bodyguard. After all, quite a few samurai exhibited volatile tempers, and Katsura-san wouldn’t draw his sword.

“Your man…can he keep his calm?” Sakamoto-san glanced at Kenshin thoughtfully, before turning back to Katsura-san. “Even if there is a promise of mutual benefit and a shared enemy, this will be a difficult negotiation. One of the men in question has a temper and he can lash out harshly. I know you, Kido-san. You have thick skin and you can handle a fair amount of malice, but...”

“I trust Himura-san with my life,” Katsura-san announced firmly, then grabbed his sword and rose to stand. “I’ll look forward to your confirmation about the date.”

And that was that.

However, as they made their way back to their lodgings, Kenshin couldn’t help but wonder. Why had Sakamoto-san been so doubtful? Why had Katsura-san been so hesitant? Why was there even a need for a middle man to arrange this meeting? It was a negotiation for a trade agreement, not a peace treaty between warring states!

But then again, while trade with Western countries wasn’t exactly rare, as Western merchants were fairly obvious about their interest in Japanese arts and crafts, and Japanese were likewise asking for Western goods… their weaponry was an entirely different sort of matter, dangerous and volatile. And not only because it was distinctly illegal.

No, Western weaponry had the power to change everything. The power balance between provinces, the delicate deadlock of peace that the Bakufu struggled to keep with the West… everything. It was no small thing that Sakamoto-san was suggesting, but who could claim to have such a dangerous thing to offer? And at what price?

The list of potential candidates was terribly short, but it was someone powerful and dangerous for sure.

Choshuu had countless enemies among the other domains. Their home province’s radical ways had distanced them, and the Hamaguri gate incident had blackened their reputation through hell and back… especially the pure madness that was the fire that had burned down half of Kyoto.

Choshuu had dearly paid for those mistakes.

When Kenshin had returned to Kyoto, he had heard that the Bakufu’s victory at the Hamaguri gate had been largely due to the forces from Aizu and Satsuma.The men of those two provinces had spilled the most rebel blood, and their actions had turned the tide of battle and lead to the rebel’s crushing defeat. In particular, Satsuma’s field guns had wreaked havoc on that day.

Out of all of Choshuu’s enemies, Aizu and Satsuma were two of the most dangerous. Aizu was a province from the north that had supported the Shogun since the very beginning of Tokugawa’s reign, raining down hell on their enemies… and Satsuma, well, everyone knew they hated Choshuu with a passion, born from grudges, bad blood, and age old feuds between rival southwestern provinces.  

Kenshin sighed.

Just thinking about Choshuu’s enemies was dampening the small bit of hope he had managed to drag forth. The situation truly was bleak and if something didn’t change, and soon, then had this whole rebellion been for nothing? Was their dream for the new era truly doomed?

He glanced at Katsura-san, walking by his side. Even now, Katsura-san looked pensive, like he too was unsettled by the implications.

Yet, no matter what… they couldn’t let the opportunity that Sakamoto-san had offered pass them by.

What would it matter which of their enemies they would need to negotiate with? If the discussion turned violent, he would be there to protect Katsura-san. Anything else, well… Katsura-san was a brilliant politician and an expert negotiator. Even with his swords tied in peace-knots, he was a very dangerous man. He never lost his calm, his charismatic manners – a quality which made him very hard to read.

To be perfectly honest, if Kenshin hadn’t known his leader as well as he did, he would have found it difficult to trust him. For those who could read ki, Katsura-san just radiated a certain two-faced feel, a glaring discontent between his outer expressions and his inner thoughts. But then again, all good swordsmen could keep their calm. And politicians too, for that matter. It was why Katsura-san was the leader of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi and what had allowed him to grab control back after his return from disgrace.

_…The only way forward for us, is to keep going and never look back._

_Whatever it takes, no matter how difficult it is… I can’t give up hope._ Kenshin thought, looking at Katsura-san’s wide back. _Yes, for the new era. For the better world, I have to keep fighting_ – _just like Katsura-san does._

 

* * *

 

After that meeting, Kenshin did a few small skirmish jobs, very similar to the first one they had staged with the Mimawarigumi, and Kyoto’s rumor mill was finally picking up on it.

“Hitokiri Battousai is back!”

“The murderer looms once more in Kyoto’s streets!”

“Even the police patrols aren’t safe!”

The gossip buzzed through the streets and for Kenshin, it felt just as terrible as it had the first time. What made it worse, in a way, was that he had given those Mimawarigumi and Shinsengumi patrols a chance to escape… and not one of them had taken it. They had all kept coming at him no matter his words or warnings, and he had cut them down as easily as a patch of grass. Once more, he was nothing but a bloodthirsty murderer.

For the Ishin Shishi though, the rumors had inspired an entirely different reaction. Whenever Kenshin accompanied Katsura-san to meetings, the rebels no longer openly doubted his capabilities, or glared at him in suspicion. No, their glances become thoughtful, even curious. Clearly, his description was being circulated among their comrades.

It was all according to Katsura-san’s plan. They wanted to use Hitokiri Battousai’s fame to boost morale among the men.

However, for the public, Hitokiri Battousai was just as mysterious and terrifying a figure as he had always been. They didn’t know anything about him; not his name, not what he looked like, nothing but the fact that he often used battoujutsu in his kills.

It was quite perplexing.

If the Ishin Shishi wanted to make Hitokiri Battousai a legend to be feared, wouldn’t it make sense to let the men gossip and let the rumors spread freely? Kenshin asked Katsura-san  about the reason for secrecy, but his leader only said that it wasn’t necessary to leak out his description outside of their own. It would only cause him trouble later on. Katsura-san even suggested he wear a hat or a scarf to conceal his features, if he intended to keep giving his targets the chance to retreat. Loyalty among the rebels could protect his identity to a point, but his enemies wouldn’t have any compunctions about spreading his description. And given his somewhat distinctive red hair and the large, cross-shaped scar marring his face… what would he do if it became widely known what Hitokiri Battousai looked like?

Truthfully, Kenshin hadn’t ever thought about it before; but if he became known as Battousai, could he go into town any more? Could he visit _her_ grave and bring her flowers? Could he wander the streets, find solace in the anonymity of crowds? Not without hiding his hair and face, and even then, whispers and stares would follow him.

Kenshin had always hated to be noticed. In his youth, he had hated it with a vehement passion… but _she_ hadn’t minded his looks. She hadn’t cared that he was ugly and strange. She had accepted him as he was.

And the fact was, he didn’t want to kill any more than was necessary.

So if people could recognize him as Hitokiri Battousai, maybe his targets would realize how futile attacking him was and they would choose to escape?

Katsura-san didn’t seem happy about his reasoning, but let the matter drop… until one night, he took Kenshin with him to one place he hadn’t ever planned to visit: the famous Gion, the artistic quarter of Kyoto. The company of beautiful Geiko and Maiko was a privilege the wealthy enjoyed, and personally, Kenshin hadn’t ever even considered spending his money in such a manner.

However, so far his duty as Katsura-san’s bodyguard had lead him to various new locations, from fancy and fine homes to outright disgusting hidey holes. So all together, a teahouse in Gion wasn’t that strange. They would meet Katsura-san’s colleagues and then be on their way to the next meeting like always, Kenshin surmised glumly. However, instead of the loud and boisterous company of other rebels, they were lead to a private room where a lovely Geiko awaited them.

Her name was Ikumatsu and Katsura-san introduced her as his lover and trusted friend. Apparently, she had helped Katsura-san disappear after the Hamaguri gate disaster.

As befitting of her status, Ikumatsu wore a rich, intricately embroidered kimono. Her face was painted white, her teeth blackened as was proper, and her hair was arranged masterfully, not a strand out of place. Every detail of her appearance was refined to the point of perfection, every one of her gestures and motions was elegant and graceful… in short, she was a strikingly beautiful woman, nothing less than a true _lady_.

Utterly befuddled by the turn of events, Kenshin somehow managed to fumble through the introductions, as well as the light, casual conversation and the multiple course dinner that followed.

Katsura-san and Lady Ikumatsu didn’t seem to mind his awkwardness, instead they kept trying to invite him into their light toned conversations, no matter how curt his answers were.

What was going on here?

Wasn’t this just Katsura-san enjoying a relaxing night with his lady? But if so, why was he here? Surely his presence wasn’t needed in a meeting of this nature? Kenshin averted his gaze awkwardly, feeling more and more out of place by the moment.

They had finished most of their dinner and only a few desserts were left on their trays as well as plenty of good sake. Lady Ikumatsu had taken out her three-stringed Shamisen and began entertaining them with a pleasant song.

For some reason, watching Lady Ikumatsu… it reminded Kenshin painfully of Tomoe. They didn’t look alike, not really. Tomoe had been more natural in her beauty, cool and collected in her expressions. Lady Ikumatsu was older, relaxed, entirely at ease in her role, almost seductive with her faint smiles, knowing glances, how she tilted her head to display her neck or wrist just enough to catch wandering eyes. But her grace and her refined mannerism, how she held herself, how she spoke…

 _…It’s just like Tomoe._ Kenshin looked aside, hiding his eyes behind his long, ragged bangs. The sudden reminder was so strong that it pierced through the numbness he had drawn around himself, making his heart ache anew. It was difficult to breathe beneath the tide of emotions.

Kenshin took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. It didn’t help. Nothing ever did, but he kept at it still, trying his best to ignore the music, the song, the presences nearby. Anything to keep the wounds in his heart from tearing open again. He was so tired of hurting all the time. He didn’t want to remember now, not when he had drunk sake for the first time in months out of polite necessity and when Katsura-san was there, just a few steps from him.

“Please, dear Kido-san, would you leave us alone for a moment? I should like to discuss a sensitive matter with your friend.” The melodic voice pulled Kenshin quite abruptly from his thoughts.

“Of course, if you so wish,” allowed Katsura-san, grabbing his sword and rising to stand.

Instantly Kenshin tensed, ready to rise as well, but Katsura-san made a stopping motion with his hand. “No, I believe I can handle myself. Please, the lady wishes to converse with you.”

“But, but…” Kenshin gaped, utterly surprised.

Katsura-san smiled. “It’s fine. I will wait downstairs. We will leave when you are done.” And then, Katsura-san inclined his head to Lady Ikumatsu and left.

Kenshin didn’t have any idea what was going on. He was just a bodyguard, not anyone important… why would Lady Ikumatsu have anything to say to him? And why would Katsura-san leave them alone? Weren’t they lovers? This was so far beyond propriety that it wasn’t even funny! Shivers raced down his spine and he tensed, feeling very unsure all of a sudden. It felt like the mere knowledge that he was alone with a lady was crawling under his skin, scraping uncomfortably against all the defenses he had drawn around himself to cope with his grief.

Finally, he hesitantly glanced up through his lashes. Lady Ikumatsu was kneeling in seiza, just a few feet across from him… and she seemed thoughtful.

“Dear Kido-san mentioned to me that he is going to promote the name Battousai.”

“O…” Kenshin gaped, his mouth falling open in surprise. “Er...” What? That was not what he had assumed this was about! He swallowed dryly, struggling to collect his thoughts, but in the end, he couldn’t manage a more coherent reply than a single nod.

Lady Ikumatsu smiled. “You are certainly not what I was expecting! But yes, I think I know now what dear Kido-san means.” She smiled again, tilting her head in curiosity. Her eyes grew softer, but somehow more intent. “Fame is a tricky thing, Himura-san. Have you thought about what it will mean, if you let your face became known?”  

Kenshin narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Hmm, perhaps you have.” Lady Ikumatsu hummed and gave him a pointed look. “So, you do realize that soon you will not be able to go outside without fear of recognition, nor meet new people and converse with them without them having a prejudiced view of you?”

She meant well, but of course Kenshin had realized the implications. He wasn’t stupid. But the thing was, he had always been the subject of stares… and now, they just didn’t matter enough to him.

Maybe his expression reflected his thoughts, because she didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “I see.” She frowned. “If this scheme dear Kido-san is proposing comes to fruition, then the Ishin Shishi will try to spread the name Battousai far and wide. It won’t just be people here in Capital who hear of it… the stories will spread to provinces, to the countryside, to recruit men willing to fight for the cause. Everyone will have a chance to hear of this Battousai. What will become of him later, if it’s known that he has unusual features that cannot be easily concealed?”  

She spoke the truth, but…

Kenshin closed his eyes and clenched his hands in the fine silk of his hakama. Breathing deeply, he tried to collect his resolve. “This unworthy one is aware of all this. It’s the truth, so it is. However, if this unworthy one’s appearance is recognizable, then maybe his opponents will take the chance to flee.”

“So, to avoid unnecessary death… it’s a worthy idea,“ Lady Ikumatsu allowed. “But would a samurai abandon the fight, turn coward?”

“If the threat is clear enough, if the fight is hopeless… this unworthy one wishes that they would,” Kenshin whispered.

Lady Ikumatsu frowned. “Himura-san, you do realize that most of the Bakufu’s troops award such cowardice with death?”

The words struck deep, trampling all his hesitant hopes to the ground. Kenshin’s eyes widened in realization. He had, in fact, heard of such a decree among the Shinsengumi. But what if that troop wasn’t the only one? What then? Were his hesitant hopes nothing but a naive dream?

_No._

Kenshin gritted his teeth and exhaled slowly.

No, it wasn’t impossible. He had seen even the most fearless of ronin flee from his Master. Even if most of the swordsmen in Kyoto were samurai, not masterless ronin who had lost their honor… they were simply men. When faced with true terror, all men would flee, no matter the punishment their own would deliver for it. After all, they didn’t have to return, they could choose to save themselves and flee from Kyoto entirely.

 _Yes, even for such a small hope… I will do it._ Kenshin resolved. It didn’t matter how difficult or troublesome the consequences would be for him, because, “Even if just one life is spared, it is reason enough.”

Dead silence followed his words.

Then, after a moment’s pause, Lady Ikumatsu inclined her head respectfully. “Then I will request dear Kido-san to allow it. You have decided and that is enough. Now though… you look weary and I hear that you have recently lost your wife.”

Kenshin looked aside. He didn’t want to talk about this. Tomoe and all the memories they had together, those were his. It wasn’t her place to pry.

“Please, Himura-san. Grief does terrible things to men. It isn’t good to bear such pain alone,” Lady Ikumatsu murmured soothingly. “Perhaps it would ease your heart to talk?”

Anger stirred inside him. Why did she have to insist? Couldn’t she take the hint? Kenshin gritted his teeth, suddenly furious. Red hot rage, the very same that had spurred him into vicious stupidity against the Yaminobu, was stirring inside him. His ki flared and started to rise, almost sharp enough to cleave through the mats and delicate paper walls…

_No!_

_No, I can’t!_

Lady Ikumatsu was Katsura-san’s lady. He couldn’t lash out, not at her… so Kenshin clenched his hands on his hakama with enough force to turn his knuckles white and tried to keep breathing, in and out, in and out, just to gather himself enough to drive away his anger.

_...Yes, just like that._

_Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale._

Then it was over, just as suddenly as it had begun. The veil of numbness settled in place like it had never left, burying his volatile emotions under it. Finally, Kenshin dared a covert look at her between his lashes. Lady Ikumatsu had a concerned look on her face, but not a flick of fear. Her brown eyes were warm. The tiny flicker that was her ki was small and soft. She didn’t look like Tomoe anymore. Instead, she looked almost maternal?

_…Like she really just wants to help._

And Kenshin felt ashamed. Without his rage distorting his thoughts, her intentions were clear enough. She wanted to help, to offer comfort and ease his pain… and still, he had almost lashed out at her.

Something thick and awkward was lodged in his throat and he looked to his lap, feeling heat rising on his cheeks. Slowly, her released his fingers from the much abused silk of his hakama and tried to smooth it awkwardly. “I, ah… I… This one doesn’t know what to tell to you.”

“I never had the chance to meet your lady wife, but I have heard good things about her,” she said gently. “So please, tell me about her.”  

Maybe he did owe something to this woman, but… Tomoe had been his _everything_. But just once, if talking about her could help ease the hurt, the pain inside him... to talk about her beauty, gentleness, kindness, her joy of simple things, the love between them…

A faint hiccup rose up from his chest. He had loved her so much. He had loved her with all his heart and now, everything connected to her hurt. He had been harboring this pain within him, ever since she died. Not even once had he managed to ease it, not one bit – only numb it by shrouding it behind Kenta’s numbness like the miserable coward he was.

If it would help to talk… then yes. He could talk about her, just this once. He wetted his lips and started, “Tomoe, well – from our first meeting she was…”

 

* * *

 

After a good start, the work to raise Hitokiri Battousai’s terrible fame suffered numerous set-backs. In retrospect, it was easy to see why. After they had lost a few of their patrols in such a manner, both the Shinsengumi and Mimawarigumi had become wary. They had doubled their patrol sizes and altered their patrol routes and schedules entirely. Even anonymous tips about rebel locations weren’t good enough to lure them out into a carefully prepared trap. In short, they had become very unpredictable and as such, far more dangerous.

True, morale among the Ishin Shishi was on the rise... clear proof of how bad things had been after the Ikeda-ya and Hamagumi gate. However, how long could that last with this uneasy ceasefire, the calm before the storm that things had settled into?

It was quite maddening.

Kenshin had been sent to guard fake meetings, pretended to escort valuable names, or waited in ambush at certain safer locations they suspected the patrols would visit, but nothing came of it. Either the policing force’s patrols didn’t take the bait, or they took the bait _en masse_. As strong as Hiten Mitsurugi was, even Kenshin didn’t dare risk going it alone against two squadrons of armed men, at least not so close to city center if he had a choice in the matter.

The public had noticed a certain wariness in how the policing troops were acting and as a result, the rumors of Hitokiri Battousai become more and more outrageous, some of them had even developed a certain, err… supernatural tint; the red hair, even the cross branded on his face, what if it meant that Battousai was a demon?

Of course, most people dismissed those rumors as wildly exaggerated, superstitious nonsense… but word was spreading, and slowly but surely turning the tale of a skilled, brutally efficient swordsman into something more.

To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t know what to think of the demon thing. In a weird, backwards way, he even found it amusing. He had always been noticed as strange and different. Most of the time the strange had been the label “foreigner,” but in his youth, in the rural countryside, some had also called him a “demon” or a “ghost.” Of course those comments had been derisive instead of fearful, but there had always been a hesitance about the unknown tainting people’s opinion of him.

Now, for the first time… Maybe it was worth the hardship? If only because it should encourage his targets to flee rather than fight.

The flip side of the coin, however, was already starting to bother Kenshin. When he had visited the town to buy early spring flowers for Tomoe, he had noticed the second looks that people gave him, especially his distinctive red hair. The looks hadn’t lead to anything more than whispers behind his back, but it was worrying him. He wanted to bring continue bringing fresh flowers for _her_. He wanted to visit her grave. He wasn’t going to give up either of those routines, not for the sake of avoiding troublesome encounters.

On the tenth day of the fourth month, Kenshin and Katsura-san finally headed to the mysterious meeting that Sakamoto-san had so carefully arranged.

The meeting was held in central Kyoto, in a quiet inn near the river. It was some miles distance from the busier market and entertainment districts, in the heart of the residential areas. While neither the Shinsengumi nor Mimawarigumi patrolled there often, Katsura-san had still decided that they should dress in discreet, plain styles and walk there. After all, if things went south, the last thing they wanted was to be noticed this far away from the closest friendly hideout.

Ever since the Bakufu’s public announcement of war against seditious Choshuu, tempers were tight and trust was running thin. It was difficult to rely on informants or supporters, when they had to suspect turncoats and traitors all the time.

When it came to the war itself, well… In Katsura-san’s opinion, the whole thing was nothing more than a clever display of tactics. Bakufu hadn’t even started to gather their troops; instead, they were waiting to see if the _threat_ of war against an overwhelming enemy would be enough to stop the rebellion in Choshuu.

Against a less determined opponent it could have worked, but for Katsura-san and Takasugi-san, war was inevitable. They weren’t going to give up, not anymore, and this hesitance on the Bakufu’s part was only giving them more time to prepare.

Sooner or later, the Bakufu would have to make good on their bluff or risk losing face.

However, such a large scale war effort as the Bakufu was boasting about would be extremely expensive to raise and maintain. It was no wonder they were dragging their figurative feet about it.

For Katsura-san, every day counted and meetings like these were his way of fighting the war before it had even begun. Quite literally, even. At least, given how Katsura-san’s frown deepened the closer they got to the designated meeting place.

Kenshin trailed his fingers on the handle of his sword, unnerved by the implications. Did Katsura-san have an idea about who they were meeting? Or was he doubtful about Sakamoto-san’s trustworthiness?

They arrived at the inn a little early.

The nervous proprietor showed them into a quiet room on the second floor, where Sakamoto-san was awaiting them and offered them a single, respectful nod in greeting. Katsura-san didn’t seem to mind the sparse welcome, taking a moment to study the seating arrangements. On either side of Sakamoto-san, there were two pillows prepared, set so that they faced each other with a respectful distance in between. Both sides had a single lantern illuminating the corner. Behind the seats on either side were beautifully detailed shoji screens, with flying cranes and mountain painted on them. It seemed that someone had gone to some lengths to make sure both sides were equally presented… which was rather telling.

After a moment’s consideration, Katsura-san took a seat on the right side. Kenshin followed his example, setting his pillow exactly two step behind and one to the left of his leader’s, making it obvious that he wasn’t an active participant in this gathering.

Then they waited.

With each passing moment, Katsura-san’s frown grew more poignant and the fingers of his left hand wandered closer to the handle of his sword.

The gesture raised chills on Kenshin’s skin. Never before had he seen Katsura-san be so obviously on edge! Even Kenshin was starting to become affected by the tense mood, so he checked the ki presences around them, just to make sure there were no spies nor an ambush lying in wait, or anything else fishy going on. In his sensing range, he could feel only a handful of ki presences, three on the inn’s first floor, and a couple more in the nearby houses. All of them were keeping their distance. Even by accident, no one had the possibility of seeing or overhearing this meeting.

Was this too arranged by Sakamoto-san? If so, it spoke well of the man’s sensibilities.

Then, two new flickers stepped in his sensing range, and immediately, Kenshin cursed silently, starting to mask his own presence the best he could, trying to spread it thin, make it seem weak and harmless. One of the newcomers had a defined, strong, and obviously trained ki. It was very distinctive and it indicated the possibility that they could read him in turn – a rare skill, one to be taken seriously. Kenshin hadn’t had a chance to cross blades with anyone like that since he had left Master, but he wasn’t about to make foolish mistakes out of overconfidence, either.

However, the other presence was rather… odd, to say the least. It was weak, flickering, always moving. It felt like someone who had the potential, but hadn’t ever trained, and as result, their ki moved constantly, in step with their inner feelings.

The two sets of footprints creaked on the floorboards, climbing steadily up the stairs, crossing the hallway… and then, there they were and Kenshin knew from first sight which presence belonged to which man. The tall samurai with a broad jaw and wide brow was the weak one, a samurai in name only – even the paired swords sat clumsily on his sash. The shorter of the pair though, he was warrior in heart and soul. Everything about him, absolutely everything screamed danger, starting from the way he stood in a self-confident, brash stance, holding his sword close, to the width of his shoulders and his powerful, if a bit heavy mid-drift… to the look of utter loathing on his rounded, reddened face.

“I should have known – Runaway Kogoro,” the warrior sneered and spat on the floor.

Katsura-san’s ki sparked with anger and Kenshin couldn’t help but to _stare_. He had never, ever felt Katsura-san feel genuinely _angry_. Not even a hint of that emotion showed on his face, though. Katsura-san’s left hand clenched discreetly into a fist on his side, before he released it and _smiled_. “Ah, Saigo-san. What a surprise.”

“Hey, hey now! Please, calm down!” Sakamoto-san rose to his knees and raised both of his hands in a calming gesture, “We all had a purpose in coming here, didn’t we? Let’s just sit down and talk a bit.”

The tall samurai with the weak presence cleared his throat, which had Saigo-san scowling. However, the point had been made. “Fine. We might as well listen to your proposal, Sakamoto-san. I know and trust you and your opinions, even if I don’t care for the company you keep.” Saigo-san gave Katsura-san a nasty look and made his way to their seats on the opposite side of the room.

Kenshin didn’t know much, but now that he could see the crest that both of the strangers wore on their clothes… it kept reminding him of something. He had seen it before, but where? Not in any of the Ishin Shishi meetings, that was for sure, given the sheer malice in the air.

“Let’s begin by introducing ourselves. After all, not all of us know each other,” Sakamoto-san started, turning to their side. “Kido Takayoshi, as he is known now, is responsible for the Choshuu Ishin Shishi and he has the full support of Takasugi Shinsaku back in his province. Your bodyguard is known as Himura-san, yes?”  

Katsura-san inclined his head, but raised his hand to request silence. “Himura Kenshin has served me for years. He has my full trust, but he is of no political importance. He is here today only as my bodyguard.”

Sakamoto-san and the weak samurai seemed to accept Katsura-san’s explanation, but Saigo-san’s scowl deepened. Was he trying to read their ki? Somewhat spooked, Kenshin couldn’t help but feel relieved that he had gone to some lengths to mask his presence.

“If he is not important then would you bring him, Runaway Kogoro?” Saigo asked in a mocking tone, like he was trying to antagonize them on purpose.

_But why?_

_Is he really that petty… or is there something he could gain from angering Katsura-san?_ Kenshin paused, looking from Saigo-san to Katsura-san and back, increasingly perplexed by the situation.

He wasn’t the only one. Even Sakamoto-san’s easy smile was becoming tense.

Katsura-san let the tense silence drag to an almost uncomfortable level before he answered, “I don’t draw my sword anymore, Saigo-san. However, when I go to meet with my enemies,” he smirked, “ I like to bring, let’s say… insurance.”

 _…And what’s that supposed to mean?_ Kenshin blinked owlishly. 

Like him, the tall, weak man at Saigo’s side wasn’t sure how to react to the statement; his ki spiked and shifted, moving quickly in step with his emotions. However, not a bit of his inner turmoil showed on his remarkably calm face – a true politician then. Saigo-san, though… he frowned, but didn’t say more.  

“Alright… well, now that that’s been said,” Sakamoto-san cleared his throat awkwardly. “Saigo Takamori-san is currently responsible for Satsuma’s interests at the Imperial court. At his side is Okubo Toshimichi-san, who answers for Tax Administration in Satsuma. Just like you, Kido-san, and your friend Takasugi-san can speak for Choshuu, together Saigo-san and Okubo-san can speak on behalf of Satsuma.”

Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat and suddenly, he understood Katsura-san’s anger and hesitation perfectly.

They were dealing with _Satsuma_?

The same fucking province that had been the first to rise against Choshuu during the Hamaguri gate incident? _That_ Satsuma? And come to think of it, hadn’t it been _Saigo-san_ who had lead the Bakufu’s troops to Choshuu, to make rebels answer for their crimes in that disaster?

Oh gods, these people were just about the most brutal and despised enemies that Choshuu had and now, Sakamoto-san was suggesting a trade agreement?!

Well, yes, Satsuma had just about the best connections to the West, with better arrangements with both the Brits and the French that almost any province could boast having but, but… who the hell could be naive enough to suggest that Choshuu could trust them?!

“Also it should be mentioned,“ Sakamoto-san forged on, “that neither Saigo-san or Okubo-san are satisfied with the Bakufu’s rule and both have spend significant time and effort building an opposition against them.”  

Katsura-san raised his brow. “What are you suggesting, Sakamoto-san?”

“Well, for a start… your troublesome situation should be clear enough.” Sakamoto-san motioned to them. “Choshuu needs contacts and a trusted middleman to negotiate a trade agreement with the Westerners for weaponry. Satsuma has the connections and they can work as a guarantor for the deal as long as need be. However, what Satsuma wants in return for this favor… that’s somewhat more challenging.”

“How so?” Katsura-san asked calmly, even as his left hand clenched into a tight fist by his side.

“Well, to put it simply,” Sakamoto-san paused, before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “Satsuma wants it all. They want to overthrow the old-fashioned and powerless Bakufu, crush the choke-hold the Westerners have over us, and unify our country, reforming and modernizing it.”

A stunned silence followed those words.

Sakamoto-san smiled tensely, and inclined his head first to Katsura-san and then to Saigo-san. “So in truth, what I am really here to suggest… is a total alliance between your domains and armed forces. Together, Choshuu and Satsuma could actually make this revolution a reality.”

 _But that’s… that’s.._. Kenshin gaped, utterly speeches.

And before he could string two thoughts together, a ki presence flared right beside him. “You’d have me put my trust in traitorous backstabbing Satsuma scum?” Katsura-san snarled, “Have you mangy dogs _ever_ kept your word to _anyone_?”

Saigo was on his feet in seconds, his face twisted in rage, “You are one to talk, Runaway Kogoro! A weak coward like you, what could we possibly gain from allying with a bunch of failures and fanatical nutjobs like you?” Saigo’s voice rose to a shout and he stepped forward, drawing his sword, his ki flaring like he was just about to charge—

And without pausing to think, Kenshin concentrated his ki and felt the world pause in a standstill; faster than the eye could see, he dashed between them, covering Katsura-san as he crouched in Battoujutsu stance and let his own ki flare in response. No one had the right to threaten Katsura-san, not on his watch!

“STOP IT!” screamed Sakamoto-san, loudly slamming the end of his sheath on the tatami floor.

Eyes locked with his, Saigo-san wasn’t moving a muscle – neither backing off, nor attacking, so Kenshin stayed ready, too. However, slowly, but steadily, the unleashed, overpowering ki in the room was mellowing down…

Kenshin let out the breath he had been holding.

And suddenly, Saigo-san’s eyes widened in recognition and he let out an incredulous laugh, almost in admiration. “Kido, you utter scum!” Then the antagonistic samurai straightened and slipped his sword back into its sheath.    

_…What the hell?_

“Kenshin, it’s alright,” Katsura-san said behind him.

There wasn’t much Kenshin could do then, no matter how baffled he was. So he, too, straightened and bowed in apology, before he returned to his seat.

However, Saigo-san was still on his feet and looking at Katsura-san. “I kept racking my brains, what you could have meant by insurance, Kido-san… but that bodyguard of yours, he is Hitokiri Battousai, is he not?”

The loud gasp rang out in the room, as Sakamoto-san’s mouth fell open in shock and Okubo-san’s eyes widened in fear.

Katsura-san just nodded once, a tiny concession.

“Well played. Well played, indeed, Kido-san,” Saigo-san said grimly. “If you had so wanted, you could have caused a true blow to Satsuma today by assassinating us. I never believed those rumors fully, but here, now – I can see that your man is the real deal, even if he looks like a scrawny piece of shit. I have never felt anything as terrifying as that ki and those eyes, those are killer’s eyes.” Then Saigo nodded once, as if he too had come to a decision. “Very well, I am willing to meet with you again. We have to think on the implications of this alliance you are suggesting, Sakamoto-san… but for now, let’s meet again in two weeks?”

Sakamoto-san seemed speechless by the turn of events, but he nodded and then swallowed dryly, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Yes. Yes, a meeting, two weeks from now. Would this location suffice again?”

“That sounds reasonable,” Katsura-san agreed also, taking his sword and rising to his feet. Silent as a ghost, Kenshin followed his example. “Thank you all. We will retire for tonight. It was a pleasure to meet you again, Saigo-san, Okubo-san.” Katsura-san inclined his head, and shot a pointed look at the lone Tosa samurai, “Sakamoto-san.”

They left without further word.

It was all according to protocol, if Kenshin understood right; they had arrived first, so they would have to leave first just to keep the negotiation even. And when it came to _this_ particular negotiation, everything had to go by the book, especially if things were ever to progress out from under the enormous tangle of complications, to what Sakamoto-san had suggested…

Kenshin let out a slow breath, trying to still the jittery shakes that were creeping up on him. A full alliance between Satsuma and Choshuu… it felt too big of a concept, impossible even. Could it even be done?

Sure, the logic behind the suggestion was clear. If Choshuu had Satsuma’s full support, the rebellion would stand a much better chance. Satsuma was one of the wealthiest domains; they had a remarkable number of samurai at their disposal and on top of that, they had valuable trade connections to the West. They had a _lot_ to offer the rebellion.

On the other hand, Satsuma had followed the Tokugawa for ages and there was a lot of bad blood between them and Choshuu. The Hamaguri Gate disaster and its aftermath were only the latest in a long list of grudges that Choshuu had against them.

Was it even possible to build an alliance on such a sour foundation?

Besides, why would Satsuma even need Choshuu for anything? In comparison to them, Choshuu was weak, robbed of its pride and wealth, time and time again. How could a negotiation ever be remotely even between the two domains?

 _…And what was that confrontation between Saigo-san and Katsura-san?_ Kenshin crinkled his brow. The best he could figure out, it had been some sort of tactic, they had provoked each other to get an honest reaction. However no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wrap his mind around this alliance. Feeling at a loss, he sought Katsura-san’s gaze and tilted his head a bit in silent question.

“It’s true that Choshuu could gain a lot from this alliance that Sakamoto-san is suggesting,” Katsura-san murmured thoughtfully. “However, Satsuma is powerful and they know it… which could lead to a very difficult ordeal for us.”

Kenshin frowned.

“Don’t worry about it.” Katsura-san shook his head, “We will enter this game with them, but it’s going to be a difficult one to play. If I am not careful enough, they will seek to overpower us and take the lead. Saigo-especially. That man is a dangerous adversary. Okubo though, I couldn’t get a good sense of him.”

“Thinker and plotter.”

Katsura-san raised his brow in question.

“Hi ki – it was always moving, but his face didn’t mirror any of it it. He is potentially the more dangerous of the pair.”

“Yes, that fits my thoughts,” said Katsura-san. “Thank you, Kenshin.”

Kenshin inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

And so they walked side by side; a killer and a leader… or just two idealists fighting for their dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 03.06.2016.
> 
> Also in case you were wondering, I have no idea how Satcho alliance negotiations began. This is just my own version of the events. ;)


	3. Rumors to the contrary

# Chapter 32. Rumors to the contrary

 

Finally, they had a breakthrough with spreading Battousai’s legend… well, depending on how one defines a breakthrough. As it was, the whole thing happened mostly by accident, caused by ill timing, bad luck, and an unfortunate act of spontaneous stupidity.

It happened on one perfectly ordinary spring evening at the start of the fifth month. Kenshin was escorting Nakamura-san from western Kyoto to another Choshuu hideout in the northeastern part of town. Yes, it was the same man he had threatened earlier, the man who had spoken against Katsura-san. However, despite his, er, earlier hasty judgement, Nakamura-san was still considered an important member of the Ishin Shishi... important enough that Katsura-san had ordered Kenshin to keep him safe tonight.

Personally, Kenshin didn’t much care for the man, but even he understood how precarious the situation was for the Ishin Shishi. They couldn’t afford to lose anyone, not even a difficult man like Nakamura-san. So Kenshin kept his focus on the job and tried his best to ignore Nakamura-san’s attitude and his constant, sniping comments.

This escorting gig was one of the miscellaneous jobs that had come his way now that there was little else for him to do. After all, the Ishin Shishi had given up attempting to lure Bakufu troops into traps and Katsura-san was mostly held up by ordinary, even routine matters. Basically, the only interesting thing to come his way was attending the meetings with the Satsuma envoys that Katsura-san had taken him to.

According to Katsura-san, his presence was useful, because it kept Saigo-san’s temper in check and reminded the Satsuma men that Choshuu was a force to be reckoned with. When it came to the negotiations themselves, well, they hadn’t been proceeding well. The main issue was trust. Saigo-san had a deep dislike for Katsura-san and doubted everything he suggested. Kenshin suspected that it was an instinctive reaction, based on ki reading… because otherwise, Saigo-san seemed to have respect for Katsura-san’s cunning and resourcefulness. On the other hand, Okubo-san seemed determined to push the alliance forward, seeing the potential in it, and because of his influence, they had talked about arranging a weapons deal through Satsuma’s contacts on a trial basis.

Or so Kenshin had understood. Honestly speaking, he didn’t listen much to the negotiations. While all the participants were remarkable people and their power struggles and plots were interesting to follow, the crux of the matter was that the majority of the conversation went right over his spotty understanding. Politics, funding, guarantees and obligations, quality of weapons, trade agreements with the West and their limitations… everything was just too complicated.

So mostly, Kenshin had been attending the meetings as a decorative reminder of a threat. Basically, he was Katsura-san’s sword. Nothing more, nothing less. However, even he could understand that Choshuu was the underdog and that Katsura-san needed every advantage he could get. Because of that, Kenshin didn’t mind his role, as meager as it was.

“What I really don’t understand is how a coward like Runaway Kogoro can keep a fighter like you on a leash. The money he pays you must be astonishing,” Nakamura muttered darkly.

Kenshin glanced at the stewing man by his side, somewhat amused by the comment. What would Nakamura say if he found out that he didn’t get paid any more than a regular Choshuu ronin stationed in Kyoto? A standard stipend, room and board. That was all. For him, fighting in the revolution wasn’t about money, power, or privilege and Katsura-san respected that.

Though, admittedly, Kenshin knew that if he ever asked… he would be rewarded.

They had almost reached a bridge that crossed Katsuragawa, a river that was over 300 feet wide and cut through the southwestern part of town, when Kenshin felt a large group of ki presences approaching them. Instantly, he made the hand signal for silence.

“What are you waving at me for, Idiot?” Nakamura hissed. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself. There is no one here but us!”

Kenshin let out a breath through gritted teeth, but it was already too late to hide. A Shinsengumi patrol rounded the corner to their street and worse, among them was one very defined ki presence. Damn! Now if only they could seem unremarkable enough… Kenshin tried to mask his own presence, but Nakamura’s outraged flailing was making it trickier than usual.

“Hey! What are you doing there!” a shout rang out.

“Shit! It’s the Shinsengumi!” Nakamura gasped and turned tail, running away as fast as his feet could carry him.

 _Fuck! Fucking fuckity fuck!_ Kenshin cursed under his breath and dashed after him, abandoning his attempt at masking his ki.

“Stop in the name of the Shinsengumi!”

And of course, the patrol followed them.

The trouble was that the riverbank surrounding the Katsuragawa bridge and the main road was very open. There were no hiding spots or convenient places to lose their tail… or any Choshuu safe-houses from which they could get support. Everything was on the other side of the river. Nakamura knew this, which was why he was running towards the bridge like his life depended on it.

The bridge was a large, wooden construction, wide and long. It was one of the main routes from western Kyoto to the eastern side of the town, so it had been built to handle the traffic. Underneath it, the Katsuragawa river flowed fast with the last of the year’s melted snow running down from the mountains.

Kenshin and Nakamura-san had made it to the middle of the bridge, when the situation went from bad to a total clusterfuck.

The Shinsengumi were gaining on them, when _another_ patrol appeared on the other riverbank. Needless to say, the second the newly arrived Shinsengumi saw their comrades in pursuit of two unknown samurai, they charged, effectively trapping Kenshin and Nakamura in the middle of the bridge.

So now Kenshin was surrounded by Shinsengumi, trying to defend a coward he rather disliked. Both of the patrols were quite numerous, too. Because of the rebel’s earlier work antagonizing the Bakufu, the size of the policing forces’ patrols had increased to as many as fifteen to twenty men.

And the worst part?

The defined, trained ki-presence he had sensed earlier? He had seen that man once before, back at the Ikeda-ya.

“So, Ishin Shishi… you two are Choshuu scum, I take it.” The narrow-eyed man stalked forward with the grace of a hunting wolf, his eyes locked on Nakamura. “Oh, yes... You must be the new hotshot we’ve heard about, the one that has been causing trouble. Nakamura, was it?”

Nakamura looked rather like a rabbit about to keel over from fright as he stammered, “Sai-Saito Hajime…”

Kenshin traced his sword handle tensely, trying desperately to come up with a way out of this. He had fought against difficult odds before, yes – but while he could charge and cut through one group, how was he supposed to protect Nakamura at the same time? Even with his speed, attacking and defending simultaneously was not feasible.

And that man, Saito Hajime-san, Kenshin had heard of him. The Wolf of Mibu was the third squadron commander of the Shinsengumi and he was lauded as one of the strongest swordsman in the troop… no, in all of Kyoto.

And then, he didn’t have time to think anymore. Saito crouched into a form, drew his sword, and charged at him with a strange, left handed piercing thrust.

Kenshin concentrated his ki, feeling the world slow down, and managed to dodge, but Saito was already coming at him again!

_Gods, he is fast!_

Parrying, dodging, trying to find an opening of his own, Kenshin danced around the fierce flurry of strikes. It wasn’t easy. He had never encountered anything like the man’s left-handed style before, and it threw off all his predictions. It didn’t help that Saito was calm and utterly focused, so much so that his ki didn’t waver at all! Kenshin couldn’t even begin to guess where Saito was going to strike next, so for the first time in years he was forced on the defensive, just trying to buy time as he tried to get used to the strange style.  

Dodge, parry, dodge again, and there! A slight opening!

_A trap?!_

Saito bared his teeth in a fierce snarl and struck, but Kenshin managed to parry just in time. However, the force of the strike was strong enough that it shattered his katana’s handguard, and made him slide back on the bridge’s wooden boards.

_Shit!_

His heart felt like it was pumping a hundred miles an hour, sounding in his ears like the wild beat of kabuki drums. It was exhilarating. He was alive; there was nothing in the world but this never-ending moment of dancing at the edge of the blade, knowing that if he made just one misstep, it would all be over. Dodge, parry, dodge, look for an opening! Fail, only to defend, attack, make a distraction and create an opening. Oh gods, this – this was what swordsmanship was all about!   

This was what he had been missing all this time!

Parry, dodge and repeat! Kenshin was sweating heavily, gasping for breath even as his eyes shone with mad _delight_. This was swordsmanship as it should be, the art of the sword he had learned to love as a child!

A deep and sudden stab of pain flared just behind his eyes, spots of light exploded in his vision… and he staggered backwards. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes even as he gritted his teeth and tried to keep to his feet, to master his pain.

Thankfully, Saito wasn’t taking advantage of his distraction – he, too, had stopped to gasp for breath a few feet from him. The man swept sweat from his brow, his eyes intent, utterly focused on him. Finally he said, “I see they didn’t exaggerate your abilities... Hitokiri Battousai.”

A stunned silence landed on the gathered men.

The Shinsengumi troops surrounding him and Saito had backed away enough to give them room to fight it out, but now they were starting to whisper.

Not in fear, but in anger.

Nakamura flinched, and grabbed hold of the railing as his knees buckled and his ki flickered in despair.

However, for Kenshin, every second was a gift. The stabbing pain behind his eyes wasn’t abating at all, instead becoming _worse_. It was like someone was pounding on his forehead with a hammer, the spots of light had transformed into blurry colors, and bile was rising on his tongue, nausea stirring in his stomach. He couldn’t focus. He had no idea what people were saying around him, all the little voices blurring into one indistinct mess. Saito was speaking to him, but he couldn’t even hear that.

_No, I need to get away… and get Nakamura to safety._

Already the pain was almost too much. Kenshin knew he couldn’t use ki anymore, not without knocking himself out from the pain. And Saito was too good to be taken out quickly.

_I can’t win this fight._

Despair stirred inside him; if he was taken prisoner, the Shinsengumi would torture him until they got every scrap of information he knew. They would find out about Satsuma and Katsura-san’s secret negotiations, locations for most of the rebels… gods, if he was caught here, it would be a disaster for the Ishin Shishi, far worse than the Ikeda-ya. And Nakamura, he was tasked with protecting the man. If they were caught, yet another would die on his watch. Kenshin couldn’t allow that to happen.

_Not again._

The wooden bridge was creaking under his feet, the weight of so many people so close to the middle and the force of the current making it creak...

And Kenshin realized that he didn’t _have_ to fight.

Closing his eyes, he braced against the pain and channeled his ki to his sword and—

“Hiten Mitsurugi ryu: _Doryuusen_!”

The ki-enforced strike cut through thick wooden boards and support beams just as easily as it had cut trees and boulders. The bridge groaned terribly as it broke and people shouted in alarm. Faster than ever, Kenshin slid his sword into his sheath and dashed to Nakamura, grabbing the man around the waist and channeled his ki to his legs to boost them both over the railing.

They hit the ice cold water with enough force to drive the air out of their lungs.

 _Oh, fuck, it’s cold!_ Kenshin sputtered. At least the shock of coldness was enough to numb his headache for a moment. Within the murky water, he saw a man’s shape struggling underwater. Nakamura? He swam to him, and tugging the struggling man along, kicked his way to the surface.

_Air!_

Kenshin inhaled deeply.

The roar of the fast-flowing river all around them was almost deafening, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the shouts, screams, and the bridge’s terrifying groaning as yet another support beam gave way and more of the bridge collapsed into the current…

And then, something slashed him on his left thigh, then right after a wooden beam hit him on the back and drove him under once again. Pain flared, nearly enough to make him pass out – but he was a better swimmer than this and he couldn’t give up, not now!

He had to save Nakamura!

He fought desperately against the strong current and bridge fragments. The sheer coldness of the water sapped his strength with every passing second, but somehow he managed to get ahold of the terrified, struggling Nakamura again, and drag him to shore.

Eyes wild as a panicky rat, Nakamura laid there on his belly, heaving water out of his lungs.

Not that Kenshin was doing any better.

He was an exhausted, shivering mess at the edge of his limits, and on top of that, his thigh was fucking _bleeding_. He couldn’t see the wound in the darkness, but it felt rather awful. Distractedly, he tore a strip from his sleeve and tied it tightly around his thigh. At some distance from them, he saw a few Shinsengumi men making it to shore, looking like a group of drenched, murderous cats trying to catch their bearings.  

“Move,” Kenshin gasped. “We have to move.”

“….What?” Nakamura look up blearily.

There was no time to explain. Kenshin shakily climbed to his feet and grabbed Nakamura by his kimono collar. The man protested the hold, but followed along with Kenshin’s determined tugging and got his feet under him, too. It was enough that Kenshin managed to sling Nakamura’s arm over his shoulder, and started to limp towards their nearest safe house, the exact same one he was supposed to escort Nakamura to in the first place. Thankfully, they had washed up onto the right side of the river.

Nakamura trudged along, leaning heavily against Kenshin. But by some miracle, the man still found enough breath to complain, “You are mad… absolutely out of your mind! You could have killed us with that stunt! I should tell this to—”

It was absolutely ridiculous.

They had survived against impossible odds, and here the man was complaining! Kenshin snorted tiredly. His thigh smarted with every step and he was feeling increasingly lightheaded and disoriented. The pain behind his eyes had turned into an almost blinding ache.

Had he ever been this exhausted?

Yet, despite everything, a strange euphoria was rising inside him, a feeling of achievement. Tonight, he had faced impossible odds and survived, and he hadn’t needed to kill _anyone_.

He had saved someone… without killing.

Joy was rising up from deep in his chest and Kenshin started to laugh, weakly at first, but then the torrent grew stronger and more overwhelming – relief and pride combining together and leaving him feeling better than he’d ever felt in this miserable, bleak city. Oh gods, he hadn’t killed anyone tonight! He threw his head back and wheezed in laughter, his eyes tearing from the tide of emotions and adrenaline racing through his veins.

_Tonight... I managed to do my job without killing._

 

* * *

 

“You’re an idiot.”

Kenshin blinked blearily at the old samurai sitting by his side and sneezed pitifully. His head felt like it was stuffed with wool, his nose was running and more annoyingly, he was constantly coughing up slime that had taken residence in his lungs. It was disgusting.

“You’re a total, utter idiot, I tell you,” Ito-san repeated, before scoffing incredulously. “What sort of man takes a voluntary swim in the Katsuragawa early in Satsuki?”   

Well, in that regard, it had been pretty stupid. Even Kenshin could admit it, because not a day after his “voluntary swim,” he had developed a rather spectacular spring cold.

And the wound in his thigh?

When they finally made it to the safe house, Kenshin had been ready to pass out, and no wonder: the wound in his thigh was deep, ragged, and it had torn through muscle in a remarkably ugly fashion.

“Just a hairsbreadth deeper and you would have bled out, boy,” the doctor had reprimanded him while stitching it up.

It had been a close call as it was.

Struggling in the river had drained him quickly and before he had even noticed, he had lost a great deal of blood… again. So he was once again anemic. Oh, joy. Because of his weakened constitution, the spring cold had struck him with ferocity, and now he was pretty much confined to his bed and forced to eat disgusting sludge made out of peas, liver, and blood to give his body a chance to replenish the blood he had lost.

To make things even more awkward, when the doctor had seen him, he had immediately admonished him for being undernourished. To be honest, at first, Kenshin didn’t understand why he had come to such a conclusion. He ate what he felt like he could eat during meal times, and quite often he had to attend fine meals in Katsura-san’s company… but maybe, there was some truth to the claim because now that he looked, his ribs and the ridges of his spine were showing quite clearly.

Worse, the doctor’s verdict reached Katsura-san’s ears and as a result, Kenshin felt like there was always someone there to watch him eat and insist he eat more.

Frankly, it was humiliating to be admonished for such simple things, but then again after _her_ death… everything had been hard. Kenshin had tried to keep living as normally as he could, but with his hurting heart, even the most simple and ordinary of things had become a duty; eating, sleeping, resting – he did everything mechanically, without thought or enjoyment.

Sleeping was especially problematic.

His nightmares were always at the edge of his thoughts, their content remarkably stable and unchanging. Though he had killed quite a number of the Bakufu’s men in the past few months, their deaths hadn’t done much more than add even more blood and indistinct screams to haunt his days.

And yet, his actual dreams were far worse. More often than not, his dreams would start with hopeful and good memories, reminding him of intimate moments he’d had with Tomoe, of their shared meals and conversations over sake, of their playtime with the neighborhood kids… but every night would end with the feel of his katana cutting through her flesh and bone and the sound of her desperate wheezing and gurgling as blood filled her lungs.

“No, don’t answer me. Just keep ignoring me. Why am I even bothering? You are always stuck in your own world!”

“O…” _What?_ “Errr…” Kenshin blinked. Why was Ito-san looking at him like that? Frowning, almost like he was worried? What had the older man been saying?

 _“_ I asked you,” Ito-san repeated slowly, “why did you jump into that thrice-cursed river in the first place?”

“…Err,” Kenshin swallowed, “that is, well… this unworthy one couldn’t protect Nakamura-san against two patrols, especially as they surrounded us.”

Ito-san’s frown didn’t abate after his explanation, but grew more pointed.

Kenshin looked aside and fiddled with his blanket as he searched for words. “And, ah, well – there was this man, Saitou Hajime-san, who proved to be a capable opponent, so this unworthy one thought it prudent to create a distraction and escape, that he did.”

Yes, that sounded reasonable.

“Are you sure it didn’t have anything to do with those headaches of yours that follow ki use?”

 _Ack!_ Kenshin bit his tongue in his surprise, but then all of a sudden, a fierce sneeze tore through his throat. He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and looked aside in embarrassment, feeling a heated blush rising on his cheeks.

“Himura-kun,” Ito-san looked at him gravely. “You need to solve your problems and take a better care of your health. Or do you intent to be bedridden every other month? Get a grip, boy!”

Kenshin cringed. There was truth in Ito-san’s words, but the thing was, he didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do about it. “There isn’t much to be done about ki, that there isn’t. Once this unworthy one uses it for too long, the pain will inevitably come, that it will.” He tried to explain, only to be forced to blow his runny nose again. Undignified, this kind of thing. He felt like a little kid.

“Then pace yourself in a fight!” Ito-san scoffed incredulously. “You don’t _need_ to use ki all the time, do you? Use it in small burst and take breaks. Do you think there is anyone who can run at full speed all the damn time? Because I can tell you right now, there isn’t. In longer fights _everyone_ tries to conserve their energy.”

 _Oh…_ Kenshin gaped, utterly flabbergasted. Put like that, it sounded so obvious. He felt like crawling under his blankets in shame, but somehow he managed to control his embarrassment enough to murmur, “Um, yeah… uh, thank you for your advice, Ito-san.”

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “There you go, Himura-kun. There is always some help available, if you just deign to ask.” Ito-san huffed fondly. “I guess it’s a young man’s brand of arrogance not to seek aid, to try to combat every dilemma alone. You know, you remind me a bit of my adopted son, Hirobumi. He, too, is always so determined to solve all the world’s problems by himself.”

Curiosity winning over his mortification, Kenshin glanced at Ito-san.

“Say, Himura-kun…” The old man was kneeling by his futon, his gray brows narrowed thoughtfully. “I could never quite pinpoint your age. It’s those foreign colors, I swear. Not to mention your size, or your sharp features… I could easily guess you to be anything from a child to a small-grown man in his early twenties. But your mannerism, and that look you sometimes get in your eyes, just those alone make me want to guess the upper range. Could you help a poor old man out?”

 _Huh?_ Kenshin blinked. “Err… this one will soon be sixteen.”

And right after, yet another sneeze racked his body.

Gods, he hated being sick!

“So young? And Kido-san is leaning on you so heavily?” Ito-san raised his brow. “What a world. But then again, age doesn’t make a swordsman.” He shook his head and patted Kenshin’s shoulder. “You try to get better, young man. I have to get going on some business; the boys in my district are growing restless for a fight.”

Kenshin nodded weakly and bade his farewells to the old man.

Though Ito-san had chosen to stay and strike up a conversation with him, the original purpose of his visit had been about business, so to speak. Since the hand-guard of Kenshin’s katana had been broken in his fight against Saito-san, his sword had been taken to the swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, for repair. Ito-san had been kind enough to deliver the sword and the swordsmith’s lengthy tirade back to him.

The swordsmith had spared no detail in outlining his disdain to a youth who got his sword’s more replaceable parts broken for the second time in a couple months. Truthfully, it was a bit embarrassing. Especially as he had promised to better look after his sword…

However, despite the admonishing message, Kenshin hadn’t minded the visit. The thing was, out of all the Ishin Shishi he had ever met, Ito-san was one of the few he truly liked. There was just something honest in his manner. The old samurai was responsible for the Choshuu men staying in northeastern Kyoto, and he had arranged most of the traps for spreading Battousai’s reputation. Most likely, when Katsura-san no longer needed him so close to him anymore, he would be placed under Ito-san’s command, to function as a skirmisher for the protection of their men.

At least, Kenshin hoped so.

He slumped down on his futon. Usually, he preferred to sleep sitting against a wall, cradling his sword in his arms, but right now he was nothing more than a miserable, shivering mess. So he burrowed deeper into his nest of blankets and glanced beside him, just to make sure his much-suffered katana was beside him.

It laid there at an easy reach, the simplistic new hand-guard shining in the sunlight.

_Good._

Kenshin sighed slowly… and sneezed pitifully.

_Ugh, I hate this!_

Yet, no matter how weak and helpless he felt, how annoyingly the ugly gash in his thigh throbbed… the river episode had been worth it, he decided.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, a week later even Katsura-san and Ito-san thought of the river episode as a success.

After all was said and done, it came down to one, very simple fact: two patrols of the famous third squadron of the Shinsengumi and their commander had been humiliated... and because everybody had been left alive to tell of it, well, now Battousai’s description and the tale of his impossible, daring escape was spreading like wildfire through Kyoto’s rumor mill.

And the Katsuragawa bridge?

It hadn’t been entirely destroyed, but the middle part had fallen and been swept downstream by the current. The destruction caught everyone’s attention and served as a confirmation of the rumors. However, as it was a major route connecting Kyoto’s districts, the repairs were already fast underway.

Seeing how well the events had turned in his favour, Kenshin decided that he wanted to do it again. It was a wonderful distraction, got the job done, and it was strangely satisfying to see the famous Shinsengumi dunked into the muddy water. So yes, if he had to escape from the Bakufu’s troops again, he definitely preferred breaking a bridge over killing them…. though, maybe just during the summer?

The cold and ugly hacking cough he had developed had been a very trying ordeal for his fraying nerves, but now he was finally back on his feet. The stitches had been removed from his thigh this morning and now several rolls of bandages served to give support to his healing wound. The gash was one of the trickier injuries he had ever received and if it wasn’t allowed to heal right, it could easily rip open again. The doctor had warned him to take it easy for a couple more weeks and avoid straining his leg.

This was perfectly alright by Kenshin; he was still rather weak and disoriented. However, it was quite a fine day outside. Having been stuck indoors for over a week, he was starting to feel somewhat suffocated.

Besides, it had been a while since he had visited _her_.

So Kenshin dressed in his more modest, green cotton kimono and gray hakama, slipped both of his swords through his sash, wrapped her pale-blue embroidered shawl around his neck for comfort, and left the inn.

The temple grounds were peaceful. There were only a handful of other visitors to the graves. Kenshin diligently washed her gravestone, set fresh flowers beside it, and lit the incense. Then he just sat beside her to enjoy the sun, pulled out her diary from his kimono folds, and started to read it. It was strange. He knew every line by heart, but still there was some measure of comfort in reading her words.

Her familiar, beautiful handwriting reminded him of her hands, so smooth and elegant… and the words she had written on the dry pages took him into his memories, like he was transported back to their paradise, to the little farmhouse where they had been happy.

Was it wrong to miss the intimate moments they had shared? When his tainted hands and mouth had been able to bring her over the edge, to the breathless peak of enjoyment? How beautifully her bare breasts and pert, reddened nipples had glistened with his saliva?  

The blessed moment when he had finally sunk his length in her?

Kenshin covered his eyes with his palms and tried to keep breathing despite the painful longing awakening in his heart. It hurt… it hurt so much. He missed everything about her, but at this moment, he just wanted her _here_ , warm, soft, and alive, so he could hold her once more.

The gravestone by his side was cold and hard, the complete opposite of her.

It hurt to breathe. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t anywhere anymore. She was just a memory and the only things he had were these few, pathetic remnants. Her shawl, her diary, and worst of all, her gravestone on this poor, bereft plot of land, and even if her name was carved on it, it didn’t bring him any comfort at all.

He wanted to break the stone.

It wasn’t her.

But he wasn’t worthy of _her…._ or to even touch anything of hers. He had killed her with his own two hands. The tide of self-loathing was so strong that it threatened to swallow him. Yes, he had killed her. What right did he have to carry her secrets with him? Her diary had been her most important possession. He had read it from cover to cover dozens of times, and all it had ever given him were these flashes of memory.

He wasn’t even worthy of those.

He had no right to carry her words… they belonged to her.

His hands clenched on the fabric of his hakama and he gritted his teeth. It hurt so much. Her diary had fallen to the ground, next to her gravestone – returned to her.

Slowly, he gathered his feet under him and rose to stand.

_Yes, she should have her diary._

So Kenshin found a monk and left her diary to the temple for safekeeping. That way, it would be close to her as it should be. To be honest, it was almost relieving not to be responsible for the diary anymore, but to know it was there, held safe for her. It made his heart feel a little bit lighter. Just a bit, but still – it was better this way.

Kenshin turned his face to the sun, feeling the warmth against his skin.

The cherry blossoms were blooming. Just a couple days ago the city had celebrated the Aoi Matsuri festival. He wasn’t sad to have missed it as he wasn’t very good with joyful events these days, but it marked the passage of time. Summer was coming fast.

As he made his way back through town, he was beginning to notice the pointed stares and second looks people were giving him, how some of them sidestepped him and whispered: “Red hair!” “Cross-shaped scar!” And finally… “Battousai!”

A shiver raced down his spine. These people, these ordinary townsfolk in the streets were recognizing him?

And then, right in front of his eyes, there was a pair of Satsuma samurai, their clan crests boldly worn on their haori overcoats. The negotiations Katsura-san had with Sakamoto-san, Saigo-san, and Okubo-san were a tightly held secret. Officially, Satsuma was still allied with the Bakufu and very proud of that fact.

…And those two samurai were looking right at him.

 _Fuck!_ Kenshin tensed, his hand dropping to trace the hilt of his sword… and a twisting pain flared in his left thigh. His heart skipped a beat in realization; there was no way he could afford to get into a fight, not even in a brief bout. The slightest stress would be enough to rip open his wound and if that happened, it wouldn't be pretty. The gash had been difficult enough to stitch right the first time… there was no telling if the doctor could do it a second time. Or how much longer it would then take to heal.

So he let go of his sword, dipped his chin low and limped forward, trying not to seem like he was in a hurry.

“Hey… doesn’t Hitokiri Battousai have red hair and a funky scar on his face?” one of the Satsuma samurai remarked out loud.

“Yeah, so the Shinsengumi say,” the other answered. “What of it?”

“Take a look at that man over there.”

“Red hair? No way!”

“Yeah, and I saw a big scar on his face too.”

“But why would Choshuu’s demon killer walk the streets in daylight?”

“Why wouldn't he?” the first samurai scoffed. “All swordsmen have lives. Who says the rebels don’t walk the streets the same as the rest of us? Let’s just check it, alright?” Then he raised his voice, “Hey, you – the red-head, stop!”

 _Uh oh…_ Kenshin gulped. What should he do now? He couldn’t run, not with his wounds, and fighting was right out. Biting the inside of his cheek, he paused and concentrated on masking his ki, trying to make it seem as harmless as possible. These Satsuma samurai didn’t feel like they could to read ki, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful…

A large hand grabbed his shoulder tightly and spun him around with enough force to make him stagger. Kenshin gasped in surprise, feeling smaller and more helpless than he had in years as he looked up into the eyes of a tall and aggressive looking man.

“Daaaaamn, you were right – Tanaka!” the samurai exclaimed loudly. “A huge, cross-shaped scar… all fresh and red.”

Kenshin had to force himself not to jerk loose from the hold, not to step back and and grab his wakizashi and slit the man’s belly open right there out of sheer panic. His heart beat fast enough that he could hear his blood rushing in his ears… he just stood there, staring at the man with wide open eyes.

“But that can’t be right,” the other samurai remarked. “Look at him – he’s just a tiny kid. He can’t be older than my daughter, twelve at most. And the waif is emaciated, he can’t have had enough to eat, not to mention those freaky, yellow eyes… shit, the kid is sick.”

“But he has swords…”

“Everybody in Kyoto has swords these days.” His captor’s partner, Tanaka shook his head and turned to Kenshin, “Kid, where did you get that scar?”

“O…” _Ugh, what should I say?_ Kenshin hesitated, “Err, that is to say… this unworthy one got into an accident recently, that he did.”

“I bet,” the samurai who held him scowled and pushed him away in distaste. “Run along kid. You are wasting my time here.”

Desperately trying to hide his unease, Kenshin limped away from the pair as fast as he dared. At the first side-alley, he slipped out of the crowded street and leaned his back against the wall, feeling all shaky and weak in the knees.

He exhaled slowly.

_That was… far too close for comfort._

Thank the gods he was small enough that people couldn’t make up their minds about how old they thought he was. If he had appeared any older, those men wouldn’t have hesitated to attack him right there.

 _…But was it really about my age?_ Kenshin narrowed his eyes. Those samurai, they had seen his hair, his scar, and his swords. Surely they knew just as well as he did that no child would have carried swords, decorative or not, outside of an important event. But then, why? Was it because he was sickly and a bit on the thinner side?

_…But the other one compared me to his daughter._

There was nothing about him that was particularly girly, was there? Kenshin frowned and glanced down at his flat chest, non-descript green kimono, grey hakama, and paired swords. He was obviously a man. So _why_ had they decided a person like him couldn’t possibly be the famous Hitokiri Battousai?  

Had he really seemed _that_ harmless to them, or what?

Kenshin scowled. He truly didn’t have the faintest idea. However, while it was somewhat embarrassing… it would be useful to find out, if for no other reason than to keep visiting _her_ grave.

At the moment Kyoto’s streets were dominated with the Bakufu’s men and rumors of Hitokiri Battousai were on everybody’s lips. No matter how inconvenient and strange as it was, obviously it was becoming dangerous for him to be out in the open. He had heard Katsura-san and Lady Ikumatsu’s warnings, but he hadn’t really believed them, not really. All his life he had striven to be a nobody. He had always worked in secrecy. And yet, he wasn’t just a ronin among others anymore, now was he?

No, for better or worse…. he was Hitokiri Battousai.

A legend for the rebels.

Kenshin swallowed once, twice… before nodding slowly, coming to a decision. From now on, he would have to be careful and visit her only in the cover of darkness or while wearing a disguise of some sort. It would be bothersome, but he had made his choices despite everyone’s warnings and now he had to live with the consequences.

There was no sense in staying here.

Sighing tiredly, Kenshin straightened and started to limp to the safe-house, sticking to the shadows and less crowded side-streets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 10.06.2016.


	4. A trap of his own making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: discussion of period typical pederasty. It’s only mentioned. Nothing happens. Well, nothing but the fact that Kenshin’s ignorance bites him in the ass. ^^*

 

# Chapter 33.  A trap of his own making

 

Some weeks later, Kenshin was cleared for light duties. So his time was spent escorting and guarding Katsura-san and whenever the need arose, he would run miscellaneous errands. As long as he didn’t push it, the doctor said that his thigh should heal without complications. Likewise, his anemia had all but disappeared and he was given permission to eat normal foods. Well, except that there was always a lot of it and there was always someone to remind him to eat more. Even Katsura-san kept commenting on his eating habits, which was rather embarrassing. However, if there was one good thing that came out of it, it was that Kenshin managed to gain some good, healthy weight and the muscles in his arms and chest got some definition.

Another bit of good news was that the negotiations between Satsuma and Choshuu had progressed to the point that the first shipment of western rifles was sent to Choshuu as a show of good faith. If everything went as planned and Takasugi-san gave his approval, the negotiations for an alliance would proceed and more people could be brought into the dealings.

However, the successes that Katsura-san had achieved had solidified his position within the Ishin Shishi leadership and as a result, there was really no point for him to keep a good resource like Hitokiri Battousai on simple bodyguard duty.

So in midsummer, Kenshin was placed under Ito-san’s command, to participate in missions as a skirmisher and to protect their men as need be. This of course meant that Kenshin was again rooming with other rebel samurai and ronin in a Choshuu-patronized inn. The men were pleasant enough folk and they welcomed him into their ranks with only slight reservation. They all seemed to be aware of his work at Katsura-san’s side and of his identity as Hitokiri Battousai, but instead of being outright wary of him based on hearsay, they seemed to be willing to take him on his own merits.

Some of them even made an effort to invite him into their company during the first few evenings and Kenshin, well, he _did_ try… but despite his best effort, whenever he needed to converse with a group of people or even spend time with them, he got exhausted. It was far easier to be alone. So after a while, Kenshin just gave up on it.

His days settled into a routine; he would spend his nights working, escorting men or shipments or just guarding meetings. His days were spent napping against the wall, curled around his sword. Whenever he was awake and not needed, he would retreat to a private corner and simply stare into space, remembering her. In the morning, he would run through his katas with tireless, mechanical grace, well, up until he gained an audience. For some reason the admiring glances he got from his comrades didn’t sit right with him. He was a killer, pure and simple. Why would anyone want to look up to him?

Every now and then, Ito-san would visit the inn to give them instructions for a job. For some reason, though, he would always seek Kenshin out and engage him in a conversation, sharing humorous tidbits, news, and just generally talking with him. Kenshin didn’t rebuff him. For one, Ito-san was his superior and it was very different to turn down a man who was responsible for your missions and pay, and reported to Katsura-san, than to turn down just another samurai with whom you happened to room… and, well, he did like the old man.

Ito-san didn’t hesitate to call out him for stupidity or to criticize him, but the way the old man did it reminded him a bit of Master – well, without the sarcasm and cynical tone. So yes, if he was perfectly honest, Kenshin could admit he enjoyed these occasional friendly visits. And the thing was, it wasn’t special treatment or anything. It was just Ito-san’s leadership style; he talked with everybody and despite it… or maybe because of it, all the men at the inn seemed to like Ito-san.

One evening after his bath, Kenshin was working _her_ comb through his long hair, trying to make some order of the mess. It was getting a bit too long, and quite ratty. The ends were split multiple times, dry, and he kept finding annoying, matted knots. Just how had _she_ made his hair so nice back then? Her elegant hands had made this simple duty feel good and comforting, but he couldn’t even manage to do it without causing himself pain. Kenshin sighed morosely, somewhat annoyed by the sheer number of tangles his comb seemed to find. Perhaps he should try to remember to do this more often?  

“…be that Ito-san is mentoring you?” A low, rumbling voice asked.

Kenshin looked up in surprise. A tall, broad-shouldered samurai – what was his name again? Oh yes, Fujiwara-san – was crouching right beside him, looking at him somewhat oddly.

 _When did he come in? I didn’t even notice!_ “O…” Kenshin paused, “Err…” And what had Fujiwara-san even asked? Something about Ito-san being his mentor? Like a teacher?

“Err, well, that is to say… Yes, Ito-san had been kind enough to share his wisdom with this unworthy one, that he has,” Kenshin finally managed to stammer, looking aside awkwardly. How come he hadn’t even noticed Fujiwara-san’s presence? Was he becoming so numb that he didn’t care enough to pay attention to the people close to him? Not that they should have a reason to harm him, these men were his comrades, but still… when had he become so careless?

However, instead of leaving him alone after getting an answer, Fujiwara-san hummed in consideration. “So, he is your mentor? But you are already an adult, aren’t you?”

Kenshin blinked. _What does my age have to do with anything?_

But before he could even begin puzzle it through, Fujiwara-san nodded, seemingly coming to a decision and smiled warmly. “Ito-san has seemed quite busy lately. If he doesn’t mind, would you like another?”

_What?_

_Why would he..._

_And what is with that look?_ Kenshin paused, the tiny hairs at the back of his neck standing up. There was something going on here that he didn’t get at all… and while Fujiwara-san seemed like a nice enough man, friendly, out-going and all around a good, loyal samurai, what exactly would he have to teach to him?

And whatever for?

Kenshin didn’t need nor particularly want any help or teaching. In general, he preferred to be left alone. So it was better to make it clear. “No, thank you. Ito-san is enough for this unworthy one, that he is.”

Fujiwara-san frowned, but nodded his acceptance. He seemed disappointed, but he left without insisting.

To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t think anything of the encounter and pushed it to the back of his mind to be forgotten. He didn’t think there was anything particularly odd about how the men left him alone after that. Well, except for one thing: whenever Ito-san visited, and sought him out, the men would stare and whisper. Kenshin surmised it was just like before and promptly proceeded to do his best to ignore them. If the men wanted to spend their time gossiping about what a terrible murderer he was or how ugly and foreign he looked with his pale eyes and red hair, they could do so for all that he cared.

However, for whatever reason their stares and gossip-mongering was spreading to also include Ito-san. Not in a bad way, per se – it seemed closer to bewildered respect, like Ito-san had done something incredibly _brave_.

Kenshin sighed in exasperation and shook his head.

Well, it wasn’t like it mattered.

 

* * *

 

Kenshin duty as protector of their men was becoming more and more important, because at the end of summer, the Bakufu started hunting rebels with renewed enthusiasm. So he spent his night guarding meetings, escorting groups and individuals and whenever they were spotted by Bakufu patrols, covering the retreat while the other men in his unit escorted the targets to safety. Sometimes Katsura-san would require his help for one reason or another, but those calls were getting rarer.

He had taken to heart Ito-san’s advice about learning to pace his ki-use, using it only in short bursts when it was truly needed. The method seemed to work most of the time. Yes, sometimes he overdid it and gave himself a magnificent headache, but altogether he was beginning to learn his limitations and work around them the best he could.

As his description was clearly known among the Bakufu’s men, there had been a few times that his opponents had taken his offer and fled from the confrontation. It was a relief, truly. It meant that his choice had been worth it, and made the fact that he couldn’t go outside in broad daylight a bit more bearable. Every life that was spared in this madness was a balm to his aching heart.

The summer turned into the harvest season and then, it was the night of Obon Matsuri, the festival for remembrance of ancestors and the dead. The great daimonji fire was lit on the mountain to the east of Kyoto to guide the spirits. It was an impressive sight. Earlier in the day, Kenshin had hidden his hair under a large hat, covered his face with a scarf, and had sneaked out to visit _her_ grave. It had been stupid and all together dangerous, as there was nothing quite as suspicious as a man who wore such an obvious disguise, but still, Kenshin had thought it worth the risk.

Most people used the event to honor their ancestors, but for Kenshin… well, he didn’t even know his parents names or their faces. As sad as it was, his family was long gone and they bore little meaning to him anymore.

But Tomoe… she was his everything, so he had prayed for her.

Now it was late at night and he was laying in wait. A messenger had alerted him that a Shinsengumi patrol had tried to raid a rebel meeting so he had rushed to cover their retreat. The secluded side-alley, where he was waiting, was completely abandoned and if he had guessed right, the rebels should take this route on their way to the safe-house.

Ah, and there they were: five ki-presences nearing fast… followed by a patrol. However, among them, there was one very defined, strong presence he didn’t recognize.

_Shit._

He hadn’t fought against the Shinsengumi’s finest since he had dunked Saito to the Katsuragawa river, but still, this new presence couldn’t be him. But a strong, defined presence like that – this new guy had to know ki, too. Just how many swordsman of that caliber were there in the Shinsengumi? Clearly, their reputation as vicious and capable fighters wasn’t exaggerated. The Shinsengumi truly was the toughest troop the Bakufu had in Kyoto.

“Over there!”

“Get the rebels!”

“Don’t let them escape!”

Kenshin focused on masking his ki, not letting the shouts waver his concentration.

“We are gaining on them!”

“Get them!”

Then the rebel group passed him… and Kenshin stepped out of the shadows to block the street. “Please, let these men go.”

The Shinsengumi patrol came to a halt, the men in the front raising their lanterns to see him better, and paled. “You!”

Kenshin sighed. It was a useless effort trying to convince Shinsengumi members to escape, he knew that from a bitter experience, but still he uttered the words, hoping against all hope that even one of them would see sense. “Please, if you withdraw now, your lives will be saved. If you do not…”

However, instead of their usual curses and brave words, these Shinsengumi men didn’t rebuke him, but instead turned to look behind them, letting someone through. Ah, the man with the strong, defined ki.

“He has red-hair and cross-shaped scar, sir,” the lantern holder said.

“I see,” answered a clear voice. “So, we face Hitokiri Battousai tonight.” And then, a notably young man stepped forward. He was only a couple years older than Kenshin and he had a nice face, gentle eyes… but his ki, it flared like a storm, drowning out his comrades tiny flickers with ease.

Even Kenshin had to pause in consideration; that ki was one of the most remarkable presences he had ever felt, rivaling even Master’s in sheer ferocity. This young commander was dangerous, potentially an even more difficult enemy than Saito had been… Tracing his fingers along the hilt of his sword, Kenshin narrowed his eyes and crouched into a stance.

The young man smiled kindly, drew his sword slowly… and _charged_.

Kenshin let the world slow to a halt.

Gods, this guy was fast! Faster than anyone he had ever fought with, and Kenshin gasped, falling back to defense out of sheer shock. He dodged and sidestepped lightning fast strikes, trying not to let himself be overwhelmed, but the guy kept pressing on him relentlessly, delivering one flurry of strikes after another, not giving him a chance to even _blink_. Dodge, dodge, parry…

No, it was worse than that – he wasn’t given a chance to think!

In this dance of steel, all he had was his experience and carefully honed instincts, and he let them take over, reacting on reflex – desperately dodging and defending as he tried to get into the rhythm this terrifying swordsman set. The narrow side-alley didn’t give him much room to maneuver and it took all his agility just to keep from getting hit.

This fight… it really was something else.

Kenshin gasped for breath, his pulse racing. Gods, this feeling – it was like he had emerged from the murky depths to a world that was full of colors, sensations, where there was nothing but this moment when he was utterly, thoroughly, and indisputably _alive_.

_I love this._

This young man wasn’t faster than him, no… not exactly, but he was experienced and his style was very solid. More than that, the aggressive way he projected his ki made it difficult to read him. However, with each passing second Kenshin was getting the hang of it and he was finally ready to push back. After all, defending didn’t win battles, only attacking did.

So he grinned in exhilaration and charged forward, for the first time turning the tables, and then the Shinsengumi’s Demon was finally on the defense.

 _Now it’s just a matter of creating a distraction…_ Kenshin grinned, shoving his blade against the other man’s, and spotted a slight opening in the stance. _Oh yes, there! Now go for the kill!_

_…But why?_

The thought struck him like a lighting bolt and made him hesitate just enough that the moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The Shinsengumi’s Demon stopped too, only to curl over and start coughing… blood?  

Kenshin let go of ki and took his time gathering his breath too. It was just as well, he had been getting near his limit.

A break was a good thing.

And yes, while he could use the Shinsengumi’s obvious distraction to finish him, he really didn’t want to. This kind of fight, where he felt utterly alive, it was so rare. When had he last had a true challenge? How long had it been since he had felt as good as this? His days were spent in numbness, lost in the memories of her. Even the fight with Saito on the bridge hadn’t been as good as this, because he had been fearing and despairing over Nakamura’s survival.

But now, he was alone.

He didn’t need to protect anyone. The only reason he was here was to buy time for their men to make it to the safe-house.

And this, right here, Kenshin realized… was just that; buying time.

So he let the Shinsengumi’s Demon catch his breath, noting how the rest of the patrol moved in uncertainty, unsure whether they should step forward and try to protect their commander. The Demon noticed it too and waved them back. Then he raised his gaze and looked at him.

Here they were, two swordsman, sweating, breathing heavily in ready stances, holding their swords close… just waiting.

A sense of curiosity nibbled at him and Kenshin paused. He couldn’t remember when he had last been curious about _anything._ However, now there was the moment and he had the opportunity, so he wet his lips and asked softly, “Might this unworthy one have the honor of knowing your name?”

The Demon paused his wheezing too, only to grin. “Okita Souji, commander of the Shinsengumi’s first squadron.” Then he dipped his head slightly, prompting him in turn.

Well, it was only polite to answer. Kenshin nodded, “Himura Battousai, Choshuu Ishin Shishi.”

At a distance he could feel another group of ki presences nearing them. The Shinsengumi men behind Okita-san noticed the newcomers soon after, seeing their lanterns and flags. “Reinforcements!”

However, among the new group was yet another strong ki presence. _A familiar_ ki presence. Kenshin grimaced.

Okita-san closed his eyes and sighed in disappointment.

The Shinsengumi patrol made way for a tall, lanky man with greasy bangs and an intent, narrowed gaze. He barked harshly, “Okita, stand back!”

It was indeed the same man Kenshin had dropped into the Katsuragawa a couple months ago, and given the way Saito Hajime, the Wolf of Mibu, scowled at him, it was clear that he remembered Kenshin too. Those eyes held such hate and contempt that it was almost impressive.

“Saito-san…” Okita-san protested.

“I am very sensitive to the smell of blood, boy.” Saito scowled. “You cannot defeat him in your current condition.“ Then he crouched, drew his blade, and held it in front of his face in that odd, left-handed stance.

“Let’s go.”

And Saito charged.

Kenshin let his ki enhance his movements once again.

This time, Saito’s odd style was somewhat easier to handle, not quite as unpredictable and strange, yet Kenshin didn’t press his advantage. His first priority tonight was to buy time and this, fighting one on one against the Shinsengumi’s best, was a very nice way of doing that. But how long had it been already? Were his comrades safe yet?

_Gah! Focus, you idiot!_

Just in time Kenshin dodged and then parried Saito’s follow-up, jumping high and coming down with an overhead strike, his favourite of Hiten Mitsurugi’s specialties: the _Ryuutsuisen_.

Saito managed to misdirect his strike at the last second, just enough to get out of harm’s way.

Well, it didn’t matter. It was just as well, because it proved he could enjoy this bout a little longer, give his everything, even Hiten Mitsurugi’s special strikes, and not to be disappointed. Now he was able to fight for real, not just mindlessly slaughter anything that stood in his way. Oh, how he hated that sort of a mockery of a fight. Just killing men like bugs was mind-numbing and heartbreaking. It wasn’t what swordsmanship was about.

No, it was like night and day, to compare those fights to this neverending moment.

Right now he felt so alive, his muscles and lungs burned out of exertion and it felt so good, the simple joy of movement, finally being able to test his strength and resolve against a worthy opponent. This Saito, while he wasn’t quite as good as Okita-san, he was indeed good enough to stand against him on even ground and his strange style gave him a lot of leeway.

_Oh yes…_

Kenshin grinned, enjoying how his blood rushed in his ears and how his kimono stuck to his sweaty back, how it was difficult to draw breath and how his left thigh ached after one hasty, uneven landing.

_…This is so good._

Saito was breathing heavier too, his narrow eyes completely focused, his ki utterly under control, as he tried to get a good read on him, trying to come up with an opening. Saito too, knew that this wasn’t a simple match at all.

There weren’t equals, not exactly, their styles were too different for such a comparison… but nevertheless they were closely matched. The difference was that Kenshin wasn’t even trying to find a way to finish the fight, because he didn’t want this moment to end.

Yet his muscles were burning and the pain behind his eyes was starting to become unbearable. Despite the few breaks he had managed to steal during the course of these two duels, it was clear that he was near his limit. Kenshin gritted his teeth: _why the fuck does this have to keep happening?_

He scowled and glanced around him. The Shinsengumi men behind Saito were just watching their fight. Why? Was this spectacle too interesting to pass up? Or…

No, fuck! They had split up; in front of him was only a small group, the rest having split up, and now that he noticed it, their ki presences were circling him, trying to surround him through all the side-streets. Yes, or course – they were waiting for when he ran out of steam and then they would try to capture him.

Kenshin hesitated.

He didn’t know how long he had been here, but surely the rebels had gotten to safety by now? Surely his job was already done? Yes, it had to be. So now, he only needed to escape… But how?

Sadly, there was no river nearby. It would have been fitting to lead Saito over to a bridge and drop him in the cool water again. That glare would only improve after a second involuntary swim, Kenshin thought in dry humor as he blocked yet another of Saito’s left-handed charging thrusts. The Wolf of Mibu was coming at him again with renewed vigor. But no matter how tempting, he really couldn’t stay here any longer.

Kenshin glanced up. _Oh yes, that will work_ … and so he concentrated last of his ki to his legs and jumped. The roof tiles made an uneven landing and damn, his thigh smarted like a bitch, but he hobbled along, sheathing his sword in a dead run. Letting go of his ki-enhancement trick, he began masking it, spreading his already depleted reserves thinner. He heard the Shinsengumi’s shouts down below as they tried to follow him on the ground.  

Thank god it was dark enough that they wouldn’t be able to see him well…

The throbbing pain between his eyes was getting more insistent, the flashes of pain making it hard to concentrate. _Nrrggh, fucking hells!_ Kenshin cursed inwardly. He needed to lose his tail before he passed out. But how?

It took some doing, but it turned out that retreating to the rooftops had been a good idea. The men following him were blinded by their lanterns and had trouble spotting him. The few daring men who climbed to the roofs after him, well, it was obvious that they weren’t very practiced in running on slippery, uneven surfaces. For Kenshin, this wasn’t any more difficult than sparring on wet rocks by the waterfall with Master. Kyoto was build quite tightly and most of the roofs in his path were covered in clay stones, not in thatch or reed, and they supported his meager weight easily.

Once he got his ki masked, he couldn’t hear any shouts following him. However, it didn’t hurt to be careful. He slowed down and began watching his steps, just like Master had taught him as a child, so that even he couldn’t hear his own footsteps on the tiles anymore.

And then, he was alone.

Kenshin sat down in a shadowed nook on the roof of a two-story building to gather his breath. It was a clear night. The moon was large and round, and the stars shone brightly. It was a beautiful sight, and his exhaustion, feeling the burn from overusing ki and the strain in his muscles… it felt rather good.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly and laid down on his back.

_I am alive._

It was such a simple thing to realize, but it felt absolutely wonderful.

He had been lost in his memories, sunk deep in his guilt and self-loathing for so long, that the only thing that had kept him sane was the numbness he had shrouded himself in. Kenta’s last gift to him. But as useful as it had been…

It was not a way to _live_.

In fact, clinging to the numbness and trying to distance himself from everything was an injustice to _her_. She had taught him how to enjoy the little happinesses of life. And right now, at this moment… he could finally see a glimpse of her teachings once again.

With all his heart, he wished that she was here beside him, to see how beautiful the moon and the stars looked tonight. If she were here right now, she would touch his cheek, guide his eyes to meet hers… and then, looking at him with her black, large eyes, she would have smiled at him warmly and told him how she loved him, because her lips didn’t know how to smile even half as well as her eyes did.

He had loved her eyes.

Kenshin swallowed softly, only to notice in surprise that the looming hurt in his heart didn’t rise up to overwhelm him.

…Maybe, he was finally letting go of his pain? Not completely, not even nearly – his heart still ached like it always did, but it wasn’t quite as bad as it used to be. Perhaps, it meant that he was getting used to his loss, learning to bear it?

_Yes._

_She’d wanted me to live._

Kenshin sighed slowly… and smiled.

He let himself relax and closed his eyes, rubbing idly at his aching brow with the back of his hand. Even now, some spots of light danced in his vision, but they weren’t more than an annoyance. Altogether, this headache was just a minor trouble at the moment. The exhausted burn in his legs and arms was more pressing, restricting his movements and making him tremble, but then again it felt almost nice. Nothing worse than he had felt after a good long training bout with Master, Kenshin huffed softly and then slowly, climbed back to his wavering feet.

He looked up at the moon and whispered, “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“As a sign of trust, I am willing to tell you that we have received orders to begin preparations to mobilize our troops. The Bakufu’s attack will come next spring, when the snows melt and the mountain passes will open.”

“I see,” Katsura-san said calmly, but his ki was fluctuating, as if in anxiety?

“Thank you for the information, Saigo-san,” Sakamoto-san said, and inclined his head to the Satsuma samurai.

Saigo, however, wasn’t done. “Another thing – according to our spies, the Bakufu is planning to deploy their entire arsenal, even the new warships they have been desperately scrambling to assemble in Edo, with Western assistance. So you’ll be facing off against every domain, with all their samurai, about eighteen hundred thousand men.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Say, Kido-san… how many men do you and Takasugi-san have in total?”  

“About three thousand, give or take a few hundred. Most of them samurai, but also some ronin and commoners we may be able to depend on.”

“Horrible odds,” Okubo-san noted coolly, a calculating look in his eyes.

Silence fell in the room.

It had been a while since Kenshin had been at these negotiations, but for some reason Katsura-san had decided to bring him along this time. It was somewhat perplexing. Hadn’t they already gotten past the power-plays and threats they had flung about in the beginning? Surely Katsura-san couldn’t fear violence anymore?

But then again, this was the first meeting that the leaders of Satsuma and Choshuu had arranged since the first successful weapons delivery. Katsura-san had already offered his gratitude for Satsuma’s aid as a middleman, and now, because of the first success, the Brits had tentatively agreed to trade with Choshuu directly. Takasugi-san was dealing with them, hurriedly trying to get the Kiheitai outfitted with new weapons.

Perhaps, now that Choshuu had gotten confirmation of Satsuma’s willingness to co-operate, maybe they could begin to broker an alliance? Kenshin’s eyes widened. Oh, so _that_ was why Saigo-san and Okubo-san were both so insistent that Choshuu was helpless. The more desperately their help was needed, the more concessions they could demand. This was yet another power-play!

Katsura’s ki was calming down and he subtly flexed the fingers of his left hand, before remarking, “The threat the Bakufu poses is a paper tiger. Their numbers are frightening, yes – but in truth, their men come from dozens of different domains and they have little coherence or organization. Most of them are poorly outfitted and know little of warfare. They are samurai in name only. More damnably, most of the domains aren’t obeying the Bakufu’s commands willingly. Already, many of them are hesitating about participating in this campaign.”

Saigo nodded, but his eyes became more intent. “What about their new warships? The Western weapons? The Bakufu has been buying those too.”

“Takasugi’s Kiheitai has gone against a Western navy, at the Shimonoseki strait. Back then he had outdated weapons. Now, it will be different. His army is the best in the country: better armed and more disciplined. Moreover, we will be be fighting in our own land. Choshuu is far to the southwest, poor and mountainous land that is difficult to travel through except by way of a few main passes. The only area they can attack with most of their strength is the coastline – especially if they wish to threaten us with a bombardment from their warships. If we crush their attack there, their forces will lose their courage and flee.”

“Confident words,” Okubo said, raising his brow skeptically.

But then, all of a sudden Saigo burst into loud guffaws, piercing the tense silence with ease. Sakamoto-san frowned, but his obvious disapproval didn’t rein in Saigo’s hilarity – no, it only spurred him to laugh more.

Kenshin didn’t know if should he be amused or scandalized by Sakamoto-san and Okubo-san’s expressions, or to be offended on behalf of his leader.

Katsura-san’s face looked like it was carved out of stone as he waited for Saigo’s mocking mirth to run out.

“Kido-san, you are a comedian. You are saying that Choshuu can win this war? Is that what my ears are hearing?” Saigo-san finally managed to wheeze out, his wide brows high, displaying exaggerated disbelief.

Sakamoto-san cleared his throat and held up his hands in a calming gesture, trying to keep peace between two volatile men. “Saigo-san, please – we are here to discuss an alliance to bring down a common enemy...”

It was useless. Already, Katsura-san’s ki was rising and his left hand was clenched in a fist so tight that his knuckles whitened.

“For the revolution to come, Choshuu will be willing to accept Satsuma’s assistance… but only as equal partners. We will not bow to your power, as impressive as it is.” Katsura-san said softly, his voice utterly even and rested his hands on his knees. “Step back from the coming war and we will show you our strength. Choshuu will stand alone against the Bakufu’s paper tiger… and win.”

And with those chilling words, the meeting came to an end. Satsuma’s leaders left with a thoughtful look on their faces and even Sakamoto-san seemed stunned by Katsura-san’s proclamation.

To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t know what to think.

Though he could follow Katsura-san’s logic to a point, the bare numbers presented were frightening. And now, they hadn’t even requested assistance from Satsuma? If they had Satsuma’s samurai on their side, they could have easily tripled their numbers. But then again, could Choshuu’s men trust Satsuma at this point? Or would they suffer from a similar dilemma that Katsura-san claimed the Bakufu’s troops had?

Kenshin frowned, yet another aspect of this tangled mess coming to his mind.

Any alliance with a domain that was so much bigger, wealthier, and more powerful than Choshuu… if there was no respect between them, it would be doomed from the start. If they wanted to form an alliance strong enough to overthrow the Bakufu with a bitter enemy like Satsuma, they needed to be seen as equals, just like Katsura-san had said.

And this war to come, this expedition that the Bakufu’s forces were going to make in the Choshuu, it wasn’t the end of the revolution. No…. not by any stretch of the imagination. However, this was where the Choshuu rebels’ vision would be made, or broken. If they lost, it would be the Ikeda-ya and Hamaguri gate disasters all over again, but with an aftermath that was ten times worse.

But if they won… after that, how could the other domains believe in the Shogun’s power?

Kenshin glanced at Katsura-san from the corner of his eye and swallowed dryly, realizing that yes, there was a reason why he had put his faith in this man.

After that meeting, instead of returning to his lodgings, Katsura-san opted to head to Gion to see Lady Ikumatsu once again. Kenshin offered to wait on the first floor, as not to disturb their privacy. However, Katsura-san simply shook his head and said, “Please, join me, Kenshin. An evening of relaxation will do both of us good.”

And that was that.

All things considered, it was a surprisingly nice night. They ate good food, tasted some sake, listened to Lady Ikumatsu’s beautiful songs, and watched her dance with her fans. Somehow, even Kenshin found himself relaxing a bit.

The sake tasted sweet.

It was the first time in a long while that he actually enjoyed sake. The last time had been with Tomoe, after they had harvested their field. It had been about a year ago. Strange. He hadn’t even noticed how fast the time had gone.

Their conversations didn’t include anything about work or the revolution. The topics were simple observations, opinions, and amusing tales. It was almost... nice? He didn’t feel exhausted by Lady Ikumatsu and Katsura-san’s company, either, not like he would be with the other men that he roomed with. No, somehow Lady Ikumatsu and Katsura-san gave him space when he needed it and didn’t press him beyond his limits. He didn’t feel trapped or particularly awkward in their sophisticated company, not even when he knew he should.

Later in the evening, after he had drunk quite a bit of sake, Lady Ikumatsu jokingly pushed him to try out her shamisen. For some reason he didn’t quite understand, he did try. It was no surprise to him that he was absolutely terrible at it. Despite Lady Ikumatsu’s best attempts at teaching him, he simply didn’t have an ear for the correct tone. However, it had amused Katsura-san greatly to see him try and Lady Ikumatsu had looked at him warmly, so perhaps it had been worth the embarrassment.

Well after midnight, when he escorted Katsura-san home and was finally dismissed… he had felt alright.

 

* * *

 

There was a rhythm to his days now, a certain order that made his life a bit more bearable. Sometimes he even found something to be curious about, or noticed something amusing. It wasn’t a big improvement, but it was something – a tiny ray of light shining into his bleak existence.

His jobs had him protecting their men, guarding meetings, or ensuring the safety of weapon shipments and other relevant items to rebels safe-houses. All necessary things, but no matter how he wished it were different, he couldn’t avoid killing. The sheer amount of blood on his conscience was so great that he couldn’t even begin to count all the lives he had taken.

Honestly, the best nights were those when he could lead his hunters on a merry chase around the town, or when he managed to drop them into a river. Like that one Mimawarigumi patrol that had followed him to a slightly smaller river than the Katsuragawa. Because of how they had stopped to threaten him, their weight evenly distributed in the middle, a single _Douryuusen_ had been enough to totally destroy the bridge, dropping them all into the river for a nice, refreshing swim.  

And then there were the duels with Okita Souji-san and Saito Haijime-san.

For all the times Kenshin had clashed blades with them, there had been no definite conclusion to their matches. By the end, they would be gasping for breath, grins of delight on their faces… but neither party would take advantage of the other’s weakness in a dishonorable manner, despite ample opportunity. It was something that was beginning to bother Saito-san especially.

“Why aren’t you pressing for an advantage?” Saito-san asked him one night.

Kenshin only grinned, but didn’t even try to explain. The truth was that though technically, he should be trying to kill both Saito-san and Okita-san… he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. If he tried his best and forgot all the swordsman’s manners, perhaps he could make the killing blow, but… he was improving just by fighting them. Saito-san and Okita-san were both brilliant swordsmen and they pushed him to his limit. Fighting at a higher level like this was making him use Hiten Mitsurugi’s specialties more ingeniously, solidified his personal style, and kicked off all the rust and bad habits he had gathered over the years.

And the thing was… no one _needed_ him to kill them. It was enough that he bought time.

However, Ito-san pulled him aside one evening, taking him to the backyard of the inn for a private talk. “Himura-kun. I have two questions for you.”  

The first question turned out to be why he hadn’t killed either of the famous Shinsengumi. After some hesitation, Kenshin admitted the truth, explaining, “It’s just… the Shinsengumi are not our enemy, the Bakufu is.” He stammered, “Like us, they are fighting for their beliefs. They police the town and keep the peace for the good of the common people. It isn’t necessary for this unworthy one to kill them, that it isn’t.”

Ito-san gave him a _look._ “Killing the Demon Child Okita, or the Wolf of Mibu Saito, would bring great fame to Hitokiri Battousai.”

“O…” _That is…_ Kenshin reddened. “Err, that is so – but Battousai is already feared. There is no need for more, that there isn’t.”

“You rascal,” Ito-san scoffed fondly and raised his hand, as if to ruffled his hair like he was a boy, or pat his shoulder like he had done dozens of times. But he didn’t do either, he simply lowered his hand and shook his head. “I will look aside in this matter. So far your work has been remarkable. What is one or two famous samurai among all the dead Bakufu to Battousai’s name?”

Kenshin looked aside, feeling the blush on his cheeks burn and spread lower, to his neck and ears. That was just about the clearest admonishment he had gotten from Ito-san so far. However, even if he had made something of a habit out of dueling with the Shinsengumi’s best and brightest, that didn’t mean there hadn’t been any accidents or injuries. He had gotten a few cuts and his scabbard had been broken just last month. The swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, hadn’t been happy, but then again, he never was.

So yes, there was some truth to Ito-san’s words.

But the thing was, even if it was stupid and reckless, Kenshin loved how alive he felt in those duels. It felt so good, almost intoxicating.

“About the other matter I wished to bring up with you today…” Ito-san cleared his throat awkwardly.

 _Huh?_ Kenshin paused, somewhat taken aback. He had never seen the older man look so hesitant, and that look in his eyes, it was… strange, to say the least.

“You are, of course, aware of the rumor among the men that I am mentoring you?” Ito-san asked slowly and looked at him, his eyes hooded and considering.

Kenshin tilted his head curiously. “…Are you not?” After all, the old man had been giving him very good advice, admonished him for his stupidity, and all together had taken him under his wing a bit like Master had done. Wasn’t that what mentoring was all about?

But instead of answering him, Ito-san raised his hand and slowly, ever so slowly, traced Kenshin’s left cheek, exactly the same way _she_ had. The gentle touch made all the hairs on his body stand up and _not_ in a good way. A shiver raced down his spine and Kenshin felt his eyes widen, his heart skip a beat… and he recoiled, dashing backwards until his back hit the wooden wall surrounding the private backyard.

Breathing hard, his eyes wild, he couldn’t do anything but _stare_.

_What the hell?_

_That was, that was… oh gods, what the hell?!_

And Ito-san nodded, before shaking his head and looking at him, smiling with a certain self-deprecating humor. “Himura-kun… I had, of course, suspected it before, but now it is painfully clear: you weren’t born to the samurai class.”

Kenshin froze.

“You have absolutely no idea what this is all about, do you boy?”

He shook his head numbly, completely overtaken by shock.

Ito-san smiled in good humor. “What a mess,” he said and let out a short, barking laugh. “Ah well, it is a fairly simple matter in truth. Among samurai, it’s an old, commonly accepted practice for a young adolescent samurai to be mentored by an older man. The mentoring allows the younger man to learn by example all the many subjects required of him: martial arts, etiquette, code of honor, and many more… but in return, it’s usually expected for the younger man to accept the mentor’s physical affections out of loyalty and respect.”

 _Urgh… affections?_ Kenshin’s eyes widened and he sputtered dazedly, suddenly realizing what that meant.

“I see you understand.” Ito-san inclined his head and then sighed, looking aside. “Another aspect of this practise is that the mentoring should end when the boy comes to an age… as should all sexual obligations. However, some young men come to desire such affection and want to continue the relationship even after reaching manhood. It’s not very common, but it’s accepted, as long as the boy retains a suitably youthful appearance.”

Kenshin felt the mortified blush take over his face as Ito-san gave him a pointed glance. He trembled, leaning against the wall, feeling a bit lightheaded. The Choshuu men he roomed with… Fujiwara-san and others, they all thought he was having _sex_ with Ito-san? That he _wanted_ such attention? He had even admitted to being in such a relationship with Ito-san?

_But I didn’t know what the question meant!_

_…But wasn’t Fujiwara-san interested too?_ Kenshin paled. _Oh gods…_

“Well, there isn’t much to be done about the rumors at this late date and it isn’t that bad,” Ito-san murmured thoughtfully. “I don’t mind. And frankly, it’s even flattering that they would think so.” He huffed fondly. “You know, Himura-kun – you are not bad-looking. Those pale eyes and that bright hair aside, you would be a wonderful boy for such things.”

Was it possible to sink deep into the earth and never return? Kenshin wondered, utterly and thoroughly mortified. This was the _worst_ thing people had ever rumored about him! And here he had thought that the stares and whispers had been about him being a killer or a foreigner, like always! But all this time, they had been thinking that, that, that… oh gods!

“Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts now.” Ito-san laughed and bade his farewells, leaving him alone.

It didn’t help much.

All through the summer and the long autumn, he had been ignoring the rumors because he thought he didn’t care… but maybe he should have. Oh gods! He covered his face with his hands and tried to keep breathing as his knees gave way and he slid down to sit in the flower patch by the wall.

What a mess, indeed.

 

* * *

 

It was like after that discussion, Kenshin couldn’t help but listen to what the men in the inn were gossiping about behind his back. It was just as Ito-san had claimed and even worse, it wasn’t just that everyone thought he _wanted_ such affections from other men, but… well, some of them seemed to think that he was attractive. No one cared for his foreign colors, but apparently his face was youthful and feminine. That he was fine-boned and on the shorter side simply enforced the image of an adolescent, girly boy in their minds. And his reputation as the terrible Battousai? Even better! Bedding such a famous figure seemed to be a very desirable thought for many of them!

The more Kenshin heard, the more mortified he became.

It was no wonder that he started to feel trapped in the inn. Unfortunately, his description was well-known in the town and he couldn’t exactly risk going out without a very good reason… but staying inside with the others wasn’t an option either. He began to stay out late after work; sitting on the rooftops and staring at the sky, or walking in the empty streets and riverbanks, anything to stay away from the inn until he was certain the rest of the men were asleep. He spent his daylight hours sleeping or catnapping, or if that wasn’t working, he sought out secluded places to the best of his ability.

It wasn’t enough.

The whispers, the stares, the rumors seemed to haunt him no matter what he did. There was no escape. He _couldn’t_ go outside. It was too big of a risk. If he got caught, the consequences would be devastating for the Ishin Shishi. It hadn’t been that big of an issue to him before, his isolation had been entirely voluntary… but now, somehow he couldn’t help but feel like he was going stir-crazy.

It felt like someone’s eyes were always following him, making him feel self-conscious. Every single look caused shivers to run down his spine, made all the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stand up and his skin to itch like he had gotten a sudden rash.

What made it even worse, in a way, was that they weren’t wrong.

Kenshin knew what he looked like and for the longest time, he had thought he had accepted it because there was next to nothing he could do to look any older or manlier. Yet now, he began to fantasize about growing a beard. With that, no one would think him feminine and it would hide the cross-shaped scar on his cheek so that he could _get the fuck_ _out_ of here.

Too bad there was no way whatsoever to encourage his cheeks to start to sprouting red hair.

It was unfair.

Quite a few young men his age had facial hair. Why didn’t he?

However, after spending a few weeks avoiding the men in the inn and trying to keep himself from even thinking about the whole mess, Kenshin’s initial panic cooled down enough for him to start looking at his dilemma objectively. Even if the rumors were rather dirty and made him feel uncomfortable, no one had sought out his company after Fujiwara-san. Why? If they thought he was, ugh… desirable like a woman, why hadn’t they acted on it? Kenshin had heard more stories than he could count about his fellow rebels’ romantic conquests. It was a popular topic. He could easily recall a dozen stories of how they had gotten their girlfriends and wives. He hadn’t been able to avoid hearing their boasting about their trips to Shimabara, either. So yes, he knew pretty well how insistent most men could be towards people they found attractive.

So what was different now?

Was it connected to what Ito-san had said earlier, that they thought he was being exclusive with his superior? Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his stomach twist at the thought. But if it was so, then it could explain their behavior. Ito-san was a very well-liked, respected leader… no one would want to bother anyone connected to him. Well, not counting looks and rumors, and Kenshin had endured those all his life.

Did it matter what people thought?

Not really… but at the same time, yes, it did, Kenshin admitted to himself. This whole thing was just too strange and new.

He had _always_ been ugly, weird, and foreign. It had been astonishing to him that _she_ had come to want him. That he was an undesirable freak of nature was something he had learned to understand and even accept… but these rumors? They threw him for a loop. He just couldn’t understand why all of a sudden people could think he was even remotely desirable and more agonizingly, he had no idea what to do about it.

Back when he had roomed with other samurai in Okami-san’s inn, people had feared him and thought him insane. Part of the reason had been Furutaka’s rumor mongering, but mostly it had been caused by his own actions and inaction. Even now, it couldn’t be that hard to make people back away from him in fear and make them avoid him. For a moment, Kenshin felt tempted to try it. But the thing was, no one was doing anything to him; they just looked, whispered, and thought about him like he was a... Ugh!

But at the same time, Kenshin liked living with these regular Choshuu men, who acted like he wasn’t anything special. They had been welcoming enough to him, they respected his wishes and left him alone without making him feel like he was someone to be avoided, like a leper or an insane murderer out to kill everyone in sight. No, for them he was just a man among others, well, except for being… gaaah!

He just didn’t know what to do.

With these rumors, and being stuck indoors, he felt like he was a demon straight out of children’s horror stories, a creature of the night that was only allowed to see moonlight.

It wasn’t right.

He wanted to visit _her_ like he used to, to buy her flowers, light incense by her grave and talk to her. He hadn’t been able to do any of those things since Obon Matsuri. He couldn’t risk it, not when people could so easily recognize him as Battousai. After all, what would stop them from pointing him out to the policing forces right in the middle of the marketplace? Or worse, take notice of the places he frequented and sell that information to the Bakufu?

No, something had to change and soon.  

This whole mess was his fault, caused by his stupidity and his choices… but still, there had to be something he could do to get out of the inn and the web he had so foolishly woven around himself.

One winter evening, Katsura-san took him to a meeting with some domain officials, who his leader was trying to convince them to step aside from the Bakufu’s call to war against Choshuu in the coming summer… and afterwards, they headed to meet with Lady Ikumatsu, to relax and unwind after a difficult week.

However, looking at the lovely Geiko, Kenshin began to think: Lady Ikumatsu had spent years in the spotlight, dealing with fame, being known and desired for her looks. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind answering a few questions?

His face must have reflected his curiosity, because Lady Ikumatsu-san invited him to visit her later for a private talk. Katsura-san didn’t seem to mind her invitation – in fact, he encouraged it. However, his leader couldn’t wait in such a public place for long without protection, nor could he travel alone. After all, if Katsura-san was captured, the revolution would fall to pieces. So they agreed that Kenshin would first escort Katsura-san back to his lodgings, then return alone.

When he met up with Lady Ikumatsu again, it was rather late and instead of heading the private rooms Katsura-san had reserved for their use, she decided to forgo all resemblance of propriety and take him to her quarters. It was quite scandalous, but she didn’t seem bothered by the implications and well, Katsura-san had agreed to it. It was a well-kept secret, but apparently his leader was her patron. She entertained others as need be, but she was committed to Katsura-san and the formalized agreement gave this meeting at least the illusion of propriety.

So with only slight hesitation, Kenshin sat by the door, leaning his katana against his shoulder in a comfortable pose. In silence, Lady Ikumatsu began removing her heavy hair ornaments and her white face-paint.

It was fascinating to see, truly. He had always found Geiko and Maiko beautiful, odd but elegant… but now, it was like she was allowing him to see her beneath the role she played.

“Tonight, you had a question in your eyes,” Lady Ikumatsu remarked, peering into a mirror as she dabbed her face with a wet towel.

Kenshin looked aside, feeling heat rise on his cheeks. She was the best option he had of trying to make sense of his dilemma, he couldn’t help but be embarrassed. “It’s, err…” he started awkwardly, “that is to say, this unworthy one has found himself in a little predicament regarding his reputation, that he has.”  

“Oh?” She raised her brow, looking at his reflection in her mirror.

“Ah, well…” he stammered, “there seems to be… a misconception that this unworthy one, err, desires affection from other men.” And then he promptly covered his face with his hands out of sheer mortification from actually _saying_ it out loud.

However, she didn’t gasp in surprise or exclaim her shock, far from it. “Hmmm, and how did that happen?” she inquired easily, like there was nothing scandalous in what he had just said. “Surely nothing untoward has happened? I sincerely doubt that you can’t defend yourself against unwelcome advances.“

Well, that was true enough, but the thing was… Kenshin cleared his throat awkwardly. “This unworthy one, ah, misunderstood a question and claimed he was being mentored by Ito-san… which is true in a sense, but _not_ for affection. But now people think this unworthy one desires such attention from other men and _wants_ to be mentored despite being of age, and, and… this one couldn’t help but overhear that some men think he is _desirable_!”

A stifled giggle followed his tirade and Kenshin raised his gaze, only to see her covering her mouth with her hands.

It felt like a betrayal.

This whole matter was horrible, it had troubled his every free moment for several weeks now and he didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t funny! He had come to her for help, not to be laughed at!

All of a sudden, her torrent of hilarity cut off and she drew breath sharply, looking at him with softness in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice utterly sincere. “I’m terribly sorry, Himura-san. That truly is a predicament.”

That look of hers, it deflated his ire in the blink of an eye, like she had dumped a bucketful of water on a fire. Those soft eyes, they reminded him of _her…_ and it was utterly unfair. Kenshin hid his eyes behind his long, ragged bangs and clenched his hands on his hakama.    

Lady Ikumatsu sighed plaintively. “The problem is that such a blow to one’s reputation is very difficult to deflect, Himura-san. Especially if the rumors have been running for some time and have some basis in truth… and have been admitted to, even if in error. Protesting against them will not change people’s thoughts at this late date, it will only confirm them. And truly, has there been trouble for you or Ito-san? Have you had to suffer any untoward advances?”

“No,” Kenshin whispered, clenching his fingers tight and then forcing them to relax one by one. Because, the truth was… “Ito-san didn’t mind it at all, he even found it flattering. And the men at the inn, they respect Ito-san. No one has done or even said anything to this unworthy one, not since that one man who wanted to confirm the rumors about Ito-san’s mentoring last summer.”

“So no one has said anything to you?” Lady Ikumatsu repeated. “And this matter, it doesn’t affect your work?”

Kenshin shook his head. Put like that, it made his trouble seem rather foolish. “It’s just… the stares.“ He tried to explain. “This unworthy one has always been ugly and odd, that he has. How could they suddenly find this one attractive?”  

She sighed.

Clothes rustled and her soft footsteps approached him.

She knelt by his side and gripped his chin firmly, lifting it and forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were brown, kind… and full of compassion.

“You truly do not know it?” she asked softly.

Speechless, Kenshin could only stare at her with his eyes wide open.

She smiled a little, her thumb trailing his chin gently. “You are beautiful. These foreign colors in your eyes, in your hair, even the pale tint to your skin, they can be difficult for most people to accept, but it doesn’t change the fact that your features are unique. Even that ugly scar on your cheek doesn’t diminish it. I have seen many adolescent boys, feminine boys… but none of them had such a pure face as you. It’s remarkable, really. No wonder at all those people are starting to find you desirable.” She paused to frown thoughtfully. “Last spring when I first met you, you were filled with grief, almost mad with it. You were thin and sickly. I wanted to ease your pain and asked dear Kido-san to allow me to try and help you. Now, you are growing into your own. I’m glad that you have found your balance, but it’s becoming easier and easier to see past your odd colors and scars.”

She fell silent, letting her hand fall.

He didn’t know what to say.

“If you didn’t have your swordsmanship, I wouldn’t have any trouble imagining you working in Shimabara,” she continued with a thoughtful look. “It’s a wonder that you aren’t, actually. From what I understand from dear Kido-san, you weren’t born to a name, you have no family, no clan… and these are difficult times.”

Why should he bother denying it?

She knew about hard choices and how people come to work in entertainment far better than he could even imagine. “I, ah… I was sold as a child,” Kenshin admitted quietly, staring at his hands. He hadn’t really thought about it for years, but back then, all the other slaves had been girls, hadn’t they? And now, he had seen and heard enough to know that slavery hadn’t been legal in ages, except in the form of indenture contracts in the red light districts. So, in truth… he really should have realized it before.

She just hummed.

Kenshin sighed and then, the questions he had really wanted to ask her just flowed out, no matter how rude they were. “How can you deal with it? The stares, they make this one’s skin itch and send shivers running down his spine. This one is mourning, he doesn’t want any attention. And even if he did… not from other men.”

“It’s something one learns to accept,” Lady Ikumatsu said to him with an even voice, her gaze serious. “You don’t need to, nor should you accept any unwanted attention, but thoughts and looks, a few comments every now and then? What can one do about those? Nothing. There are far too many directed at those born to beauty. People admire, fantasize… dream, envy, lust. It’s a fight one cannot win. And really, what harm is there from them? You have endured stares before, don’t claim you haven’t! Being from Choshuu, with those foreign colors, you’ve heard bad words and ill-spoken rumors countless times. Accept that you have something most people will never have and learn to endure. Find your balance.”

Kenshin swallowed. So it was hopeless? This attention… it would just continue and if she was right, then it would start happening more and more often. The thought twisted his stomach and he gritted his teeth, gripping his hakama tightly…

But really, wasn’t this something he had already learned to endure? Was it causing him any harm?

He knew the answer to that question just as well as she did. He swallowed dryly, before looking up at her between his lashes.

Her eyes were calm. Utterly steady, confident, and strong in a manner that he could only hope to reach someday.

He inhaled deeply and let out a slow exhale.

_Perhaps… I can learn to do it._

Finally, he nodded.

She inclined her head in approval, a hint of steel gleaming in her gaze, and then she rose, returning to her mirror.

Silence landed between them, but unlike before it wasn’t heavy or oppressive. More like a comfortable pause that let him gather his thoughts. She removed the rest of her work ornaments and the rest of the white paint from her neck and wrists in an idle, well practiced manner. She let her hair down and started to comb her long, luxurious dark hair. It shone beautifully and grabbed his interest, enough that he dared to ask her about it. She didn’t hesitate to answer his questions, starting up a light-hearted discussion with him about the topic. It was comfortable to lighten up the mood by talking about such nonsense. Well, not exactly nonsense… after all, Kenshin had something of a vested interest in his hair.

Tomoe had liked his hair long and he had tried to keep it well-cared for in her memory, but his attempts had been rather sad so far. However, Lady Ikumatsu had a few good tips for him, nothing major or ground-breaking, but things he could definitely try out: tackling the tangles and mats in his hair when it was still wet after his bath, handling them with patience and not letting them go unattended for so long, using a bit of oil on the dry ends, combing his hair daily, tying his hair with a ribbon instead of a leather string, or even letting it down every now and then…  

It was some time later that Kenshin was finally relaxed enough to ask about the other matter that had been bothering him. “The fame of Battousai… this unworthy one would like to have some freedom from it, at least enough to visit his wife’s grave by daylight. But the whole town knows about his hair and scar…”

“Well, I remember warning you about that,” Lady Ikumatsu said wryly.

“..Err, that is true. But is there a way?”

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “When I desire to go to town discreetly, I just wear humble clothes instead of my work ensemble. People see my face, but without the paint, ornaments, and fine clothes, they don’t think of Geiko – especially not the attractive and desirable Ikumatsu. For them I am just a woman, a beautiful woman, but a normal woman nevertheless.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder. “So, my advice to you would be… think, who is Battousai?”

Kenshin frowned. “A swordsman. A murderer… a samurai. A Choshuu rebel.”

Lady Ikumatsu inclined her head. “Yes, those are all true. But I guess you haven’t listened to the rumors in the city for some time.” She saw his puzzlement and traced her finger on her cheek, a ghostly imitation of his scar. “Hitokiri Battousai is a demon, his hair is colored red by the blood spilt by his countless victims. His eyes gleam yellow in dark, allowing him to hunt down his targets without fail. He is an invincible warrior; tall, strong… manly, like all terrible foes in stories.”

She glanced at him and the corner of her lips lifted into a smirk. “The image people paint in their minds is quite different from the truth. I dare say it won’t be all that difficult for you to lead them astray every now and then. However, the more time you give people to think, the more likely it is that they will see through the illusions and exaggerations that make up Battousai’s legend.”

So when Kenshin finally returned to his lodgings late that night, or more accurately, early the next morning… he was pensive. Lady Ikumatsu had answered his questions, but rarely had she given straight answers and now, it felt like all he had gotten was a whole set of new questions. But then again, maybe it was just as well.

A few days later, he decided to take a risk.

He woke up unusually early. Well, early for him these days: an hour before noon. He combed his hair until it flowed down his back in a smooth, red torrent and let it stay down, without any ties holding it back. It was truly getting too long, he noticed with a grimace – it was down to his buttocks now. He dressed in his yukata and his less used, simple blue cotton kimono, just like he had used to in Otsu. Thick long socks covered his feet and mittens protected his hands. He wrapped _her_ pale blue, embroidered shawl around his neck, high enough to cover his cheeks – for warmth and as subtle coverage for his scar.

All in all, he didn’t look much like he usually did and even less like a fighter to be taken seriously. It wasn’t a very practical outfit. If something happened, he could imagine how easily his overly long hair or her shawl would get in the way.

Even worse, he felt _naked_ without his swords.  

But as he trudged through the town to her grave, he kept his eyes and ears open for the slightest hint of suspicion among the townsfolk… and nothing happened. He was unarmed and idiotically open to all attacks, more vulnerable than he had been in ages, and not a single person commented about his hair being like the famous Battousai’s. Sure, some people remarked that his colors were odd, some mistook him for a foreigner or a pretty girl wearing men's clothing, but no one, absolutely no one paid attention to the obvious.

When Kenshin got back to the inn that afternoon, he received stunned stares and surprised exclamations about his choice of dress and about him having gone to town without anything to protect himself with. And yes, even he could admit it had been stupid to go out unarmed. He didn’t particularly want to take such a risk again, either. Without his swords, he had been tense and nerve-wreckingly alert the whole time and hadn’t been able to enjoy his stroll.

But at the same time, he had left the inn.

During the day.

Like a normal person.

It felt like the sweetest of victories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 17.06.2016.


	5. Trouble follows the unprepared

****

# Chapter 34. Trouble follows the unprepared

 

Spring hit the Ishin Shishi with full force and suddenly they all were busier than ever. Katsura-san was elbows-deep in negotiations with _everyone_. He was trying to wrest as much information as possible from Satsuma, as well as blackmailing, threatening, and doing whatever he could to convince the weaker domains to back off from the Bakufu’s call to war. Katsura-san had already managed to reduce the force marching on Choshuu by tens of thousands of men. It was a respectable feat, even if it did little to even the odds that were pitted against them. According to Satsuma’s information, the Bakufu’s army was still over one hundred thousand strong, and worse, they had managed to outfit several of their new battleships.

Hitokiri Battousai had been a valuable tool for Katsura-san in his quest to demoralize the domain leaders and because of it, Kenshin had been accompanying his leader from one negotiation to the next, shown around like a menacing show dog. Look, the most terrifying legend in the country is on our leash!

Kenshin endured it with as much dignity as he could. He knew better than most how difficult the situation truly was. If propaganda would help, he wouldn’t protest, no matter how he felt about it. Besides, if Choshuu survived this battle, if they won… the revolution would no longer consist of only a few hundred determined samurai and ronin fighting for a remote dream. No, they would be able to unify entire domains to stand against the Bakufu.

The problem was that Katsura-san’s and the other Ishin Shishi’s efforts to prepare for war had caused the Bakufu to unleash an overwhelming manhunt for rebels in Kyoto. More and more samurai were pouring in by the day as the capital had become the gathering point for all the great and powerful before they marched on the southwest.

And yet, not many were happy about the war.

It was going to be a massive show of force, more expensive than any other effort the Bakufu had undertaken to quash the rebels. It was going to drain everyone’s coffers dry: the government, the Shogun, the countryside domains… and Choshuu, too. There was no payoff for _anyone_ in this mess. Choshuu was now poorer than ever, putting their all into surviving this war. Their earlier clashes with the Bakufu had been hard on their resources and without funding, the West certainly wasn’t going to supply them with weapons.

The Bakufu’s manhunt was focused on catching the suspected rebel leaders and those in influential positions. They were hoping to cut off the head of the snake before the war. Thankfully, the Choshuu Ishin Shishi had managed to keep secret Katsura-san’s role as their leader, and so far, his leader had been able to evade capture with relative ease. However, the same couldn’t be said for all Ishin Shishi and at the top of the wanted list – with an impressive bounty promised for any piece of information aiding his capture – stood Choshuu’s demon, the Hitokiri Battousai.

It worried Kenshin. He had done his best to avoid being seen, wearing disguises and sticking to shadows, but he couldn’t help being haunted by his fears and doubts. What if someone saw a bit too much? What would stop them from ratting him out? The money the Bakufu promised for aiding his capture was had gotten too good to be ignored.

Unfortunately, despite the danger, he was needed, and so Kenshin had found himself working longer and longer days. He would escort Katsura-san for hours, then run off to save rebel fighters from Bakufu ambushes, or help secure weapons shipments… he could be called to duty at any time. Sleep was becoming a valuable commodity, as was any form of rest. Worse, he had been having even more trouble with his ki; headaches and an exhausted burn in his muscles were becoming a daily struggle for him. He just didn’t have enough time to rest and replenish his energy.

When it came to the, err, troublesome situation with Ito-san… at first, Kenshin had hesitated to spend any time with his superior. He hadn’t been able to avoid feeling awkward, remembering the rumors. However, it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that seeking to distance himself from his superior this late in the game was quite ridiculous and wouldn’t help in any way. Quite the opposite, actually. Besides, the whole mess had been his fault in the first place. So, Kenshin swallowed his unease and apologized to Ito-san.

The old man just laughed and dismissed it, saying that it wasn’t any trouble.

And that was that.

Now, after a particularly long day, Kenshin was walking back to the inn along a quiet street by the riverbank. Ito-san was by his side, as was the older man’s habit after particularly tricky jobs. Securing this latest weapons shipment certainly fit into that category. However, this time, it was difficult to say which one of them was escorting the other. Kenshin was completely wiped out; his balance was shaky, his legs refused to walk straight, and the bright spots of light dancing across his field of vision certainly weren’t helping. Every single step hurt. His muscles felt like they were on fire, aching with a raw, exhausted burn now that adrenaline had left him. Frankly, he was staying on his feet through nothing but sheer willpower.

“You know, boy – you really look miserable,” Ito-san commented, his tone jovial even if his eyes were rather piercing, full of reprisal.

Kenshin didn’t have any trouble guessing why. Lately, Ito-san had been criticizing him constantly about the wastefulness of his ki-use. Speaking of which, he started into the familiar lecture again:

“Surely you realize that if you were more efficient in your movements, you wouldn’t be so tired after days like these?” Ito-san said. “With ki boosting your speed, you are so fast that you could cut down multiple targets with the same strike.”

It was true enough. Kenshin could see the logic behind the suggestion, but, it was just... “Killing like that would cause needless suffering, that it would,” he murmured. “If this unworthy one needs to kill them, it’s better to make it quick, make it as painless as possible, that is is.”

Ito-san’s face twisted with barely held back frustration and he opened his mouth to protest, but Kenshin continued steadily, dutifully repeating his much-practiced counter-argument. “It’s true what you say. It would even be easy. Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was designed to pit one against many, that it was. Killing three or four men with one strike wouldn’t take much, especially the way the Bakufu troops keep trying to overwhelm this unworthy one with their numbers… but some of them would be cut apart in a manner that would be needlessly painful. It would be a slaughter, not a fight.”

“You are too soft, boy.” Ito-san scoffed. “It’s a nice thought, but they all die when you cut them apart. If it takes one blink of an eye, or two – what does it matter? The pain is equal. You are wasting yourself like this. Look at you, you are barely able to walk!”

Kenshin just sighed.

Well, at least the early spring morning was nice and warm. It was now the beginning of the fourth month. The wind was blowing up from the south, bringing moist air from the sea, and the sun was rising steadily between the mountains. The rays of light were painful to look at and intensified the color show peppering his field of vision. Kenshin shielded his eyes with the back of his hand and looked aside. It didn’t help much. The colors kept moving, reflected on the surface of the river beside them.

 _Fuck it all!_ He cursed inwardly and swayed, his knees threatening to give way under him but a steady, warm hand grabbed his shoulder and righted him just in time. Kenshin shuddered, leaning with his hands on his knees for a moment. Damn it if he didn’t feel like falling down and not moving for a week.

“Boy… maybe we should take a moment to rest,” Ito-san said gently. “You really don’t look too good.”

“If this unworthy one stops now…” Kenshin swallowed, “I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk again.”

The admission stung badly, but it was true – dammit all. The last job of the night had been quite a distance from the city proper, up in the northern mountain passes they used to smuggle in shipments of weapons. Usually, Kenshin wouldn’t have minded the distance because it was a chance to get away from the painfully familiar streets of Kyoto… but he was just so tired; the stress, little sleep, and erratic schedule had worn his nerves thin, pushing him to overestimate his limits with ki, and now he was paying the price for it. Honestly, his only wish was to reach his corner of their inn and curl up in a pile of blankets and _sleep_. Hopefully without nightmares – he certainly was tired enough for it to be possible, but if not, well, he wasn’t picky, any form of sleep would be a blessing right about now.

It was so hard to concentrate, to stay on his feet. Was it just him or were the spots splayed across his vision moving?

“Hey!” A shout rang out behind them.

Kenshin blinked slowly, so out of it that he couldn’t even distinguish the individual presences from the flickering mass approaching them. As a group, however, they felt more curious than angry… huh.

Ito-san’s hand tightened on his shoulder and Kenshin sighed softly, lifting his head enough to glance at the group of blurry figures approaching them.

“What is it, lads?” Ito-san raised his voice, greeting them jovially, even if his underlying tenseness was painfully clear. Something had set him on edge, but what? Then the newcomers came close enough for Kenshin to make out which blurry spots were the colors in their outfits… oh fuck, they were Kyoto Mimawarigumi!

It felt like his heart had stopped for a moment. Kenshin swallowed dryly, lifting his shaky hand to his sword hilt… only to adjust his arm so that his wide sleeve fell to cover his weapons. He couldn’t fight like this, not if he had any other option. He let his eyes fall back to the cobblestones along the riverbank, carefully tilting his head so that his long, ragged bangs fell to cover his pale eyes and scar.

_Please, let there be no bloodstains on my clothes. Please, let it be dark enough that my hair doesn’t look too obviously red…_

The footsteps approached until they heard a man call out to them, “Sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but unfortunately we find ourselves in need of assistance. This is somewhat embarrassing, but could you give us directions to Nijo castle? We would be most grateful.”

“Nijo castle?” Ito-san inquired, his surprise obvious.

“Ah, yes.” The Mimawarigumi samurai cleared his throat awkwardly. “We are new recruits. Tonight was our first patrol, but then our captain was alerted to a potential location of terrorists. He thought it prudent to break up the squad and sent the six of us back without a guide and now we are quite lost.”

Kenshin tried to stifle his incredulous snort by holding his hand in front of his mouth, which, of course, swayed his balance. Only Ito-san’s steady grip on his shoulder kept him on his feet, but it didn’t keep him from staggering awkwardly. Kenshin cursed, trying to make it look like he was drunk or ill. Both of those were perfectly acceptable excuses, weren’t they?

Thank god, these Mimawarigumi rookies didn’t seem particularly bright. Seriously, getting lost on duty? Misplacing Nijo castle? How was that even possible? The castle was one of the best-known landmarks in the capital, it was just a few blocks distance from the Imperial castle grounds, and that was just across the river from here! But then again, their spokesman’s accent had a familiar eastern tinge, the same as she had had… so maybe they were new recruits from Edo who had never been here before?

Ito-san was far more diplomatic than him and didn’t have any trouble keeping his cool. He stepped in front of Kenshin to shield him from the rookies’ wandering eyes and started happily giving them directions. “Ah, lads! That could happen to anyone! Kyoto is a big city. It’s no problem at all. Just follow the river south, and where the river forks, take the closest bridge over it. Then ahead you will see…”

“Hey, is he alright?” One of the rookies asked worriedly, stepping closer to them.

“Oh, he is fine enough!” Ito-san was quick to assure. “The poor lad had a bit too much sake, that’s all. He is lightweight as you can see…”

The joke raised polite laughter from the rookies. Ito-san led the conversation back to the topic at hand and it was almost enough, but then… maybe the sun rose enough to shine on his damning hair, or one of them got a bit too close, because then someone asked, “Is his hair red?”

“Oh shit! It is!”

And Kenshin knew that the ruse was over. He gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes to see past the spots of light in his eyes to focus on his targets. There were six of them, barely half a squadron, and they were all inexperienced rookies. He concentrated on his ki, the freezing coldness inside him, directing it to his burning muscles as he charged, cutting through the closest blurry shape, the spokesperson among the rookies. He was going for the second one when the pain behind his eyes spiked and then he didn’t see anything at all.

 

* * *

 

When Kenshin finally came to consciousness again, his head felt like it was splitting open and his stomach was lurching with overwhelming nausea. The fierce bickering echoing all around him didn’t help.

“We should head left!”

“But the old man told us to follow the river…”

“I sure did!” Ito-san’s voice confirmed with forced cheer.

“Be quiet or I will gag you!” the first voice snarled.

Urgently, Kenshin tried to shift his hands, only to realize that they were tightly tied behind his back. Worse, not only was he upside down, but he was _moving_. Someone was carrying him over their shoulder, fireman style? Ugh… Kenshin moaned weakly, trying desperately to keep his bile down, or more accurately, _up_.

“Shut up, Ishin Shishi scum! You are lying or trying to lead us into an ambush, I know you are. The last thing we’ll do is go where these traitorous bastards say we should,” one of the Mimawarigumi rookies declared. “So I say we head left.”

The rest muttered their agreement.

“Guys, guys… look!” one of them yelped. “I think Battousai is waking up!”

“Quiet! Don’t go around yelling that name!” the first man hissed. “Even the walls have ears these days. What if some Ishin Shishi supporter hears you? What if they alert their men and come after us before we find our way back?”

“…Uh, I think we should tie him better. I don’t want him to get loose,” a third man murmured hesitantly, his voice quivering with doubt.

“Ha! My knots are tight. No one can get free of them, least of all some skinny Choshuu rat,” the one who was carrying Kenshin said over his shoulder, turning just enough that the swaying motion made Kenshin’s stomach lurch. The pain, the noises, being upside down… it was just too much, and Kenshin vomited.

“Fucking hell!”

And the problem of being carried upside down? The disgusting bile went straight up his nose, suffocating him. Eyes watering from the sting of it, Kenshin gagged and sputtered desperately, trying to get air… much to the disgust of the guy who was carrying him. Without further warning, Kenshin was dropped to the ground.

He hit the cobblestones shoulder first, landing on his side and gods, the pain, the pain! His left arm felt like it had been dipped into red hot coals… but still, the need to draw breath was stronger. Kenshin coughed, gasped and writhed on the ground, not caring about anything but breathing.

“Man, that’s just sad,” someone commented. “Are you sure that is Battousai? Just look at him! A pretty boy like that.... And he is a total mess.”

A hard kick hit Kenshin’s stomach and all the air was driven out of his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball, focusing on nothing other than inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. _Yes, breathe. Nothing else matter. Just keep breathing._

“Who cares was he looks like!” the gruff-voiced man, the one who had carried him, declared. “That bastard killed Suzuki! He has killed more of our comrades than any other terrorist!” The man spat, the disgusting slime hitting Kenshin’s face.

Unfortunately, at this point, Kenshin didn’t have time to care about the mortal insult. Mastering his pain was far more important. His arms were locked painfully behind his back, but if he tried, he could still move his shoulder, so it was not broken. Thank the gods.

“I still say it would be far easier to carry just his head. Think what heroes we would be if we came back to headquarters with Battousai’s head?”

“The orders are to capture when possible,” a firm voice disagreed. The same one who had been quick to assume command earlier? “As nice and easy as it would be to cut off his head, we are not savages like these rebel dogs. We will obey the creed of the Mimawarigumi. Besides, if we return with two prisoners, no matter who the old man is, the Captain will have to forgive our lateness. So let’s move it! And cover that damn hair!”

Without further ado, Kenshin was heaved up and slung over the largest man’s shoulder once again. Someone wrapped their haori clumsily over his head, covering his eye-catching hair. Unfortunately, his nausea returned with fervor, but this time, he didn’t have anything left to gag up. Worse, with all that cloth obscuring his face, it was hard to breathe or make any sense of the world around him. He didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed, the time blurred into a simple repetition of horrible sensations. Uncontrollable shakes wracked through his body, his headache and well, _everything_ throbbed in pace with the steps of the lumbering oaf who carried him.

When Kenshin finally got used to the pain, well, at least enough to start listening to the bickering around him… it dawned on him that these five Mimawarigumi samurai weren’t just lost, they had no real leadership between them. Every single decision had to be argued and contradicted and negotiated until all five of them could agree on it. Even though Ito-san was tied up and at their mercy, just as Kenshin was, the old man was eagerly taking advantage of this weakness, joining the rookies’ bickering every now and then with oh-so-helpful suggestions.

What was ironic was that the rookies were so sure that everything Ito-san said to them was a lie, that whenever – and it was practically all the time – the old man gave them good advice, tips, or what Kenshin suspected to be correct directions, the rookies decided to do the polar opposite.

If he had the energy, Kenshin would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.

In a way, what Ito-san was doing was brilliant; he kept peppering enough truth into his words that he seemed completely sincere, but the poor Mimawarigumi rookies couldn’t read him at all. So little by little, the old man was manipulating them to move away from the town. Which, of course, was the only logical thing he could do at this point. The Ishin Shishi had safe houses in the area, but this early in the morning, it wasn’t guaranteed they would reach one before running into a Bakufu patrol. Worse, if the rookies managed to get them to their Nijo castle headquarters, they wouldn’t have any chance of escaping.

After all, the Kyoto Mimawarigumi consisted entirely of high-ranking samurai and their headquarters was in the middle of town, in the center of Tokugawa power in Kyoto. Nijo castle was a fortress guaranteed to be crawling with _hundreds_ of Bakufu samurai. Given how valuable Kenshin and Ito-san were as prisoners, arranging their escape from a tightly secured stronghold like that would be next to impossible. Hell, even in his best fighting condition, rested and alone, Kenshin didn’t think he could do it. He was good, yes… but not _crazy_.

Another angle to this mess was that though it was early in the morning and there were few people out, the rookies couldn’t exactly stop and ask for directions. It wasn’t just about losing face or the risk of being found by the Ishin Shishi, either… no, at this point, they had a serious problem: they were late. Apparently, they had wandered around for several hours before running across Kenshin and Ito-san and the clock kept ticking. If they didn’t return with a viable excuse for their lateness, they would risk being punished as a rule-breakers or in the worst case scenario, they could be branded as deserters.

It didn’t help that the city was full of samurai. Mostly Bakufu troops, true… but the public was getting quite divided about who they supported. They could just as easily to run across an Ishin Shishi supporter, or a competing Bakufu group. So who could these Mimawarigumi rookies trust now?

The sad fact was that _everyone_ wanted Battousai.

There was a significant bounty promised for even a _hint_ of Battousai’s location. The tale of the murderer with red hair and a cross-shaped scar was on everyone’s lips. So what would stop another Bakufu troop from taking him from these rookies or even killing them, just so that they could claim the honor of having caught the feared Hitokiri Battousai instead?

Somehow, during the course of this unfortunate morning, having prisoners was starting to seem like a lifeline for the rookies. Without them, they would face certain punishment… but if they successfully delivered their prisoners, they would be lauded as heroes.

However, that didn’t mean that the rookies were happy about being forced to drag a pair of Choshuu rebels around with them. As the sun kept rising, Kenshin and Ito-san got kicked and smacked with increasing frequency, in step with the rookies growing frustration.

It had been a long night for all of them.

Every single one of them, rookies and rebels both, were dead tired.

“Oh man… how lost are we?” someone whined. “Look! Those treetops aren’t in the Imperial gardens, that’s a forest! Takahashi, you idiot! We are at the edge of town again!”

“Hmmph! Like you would have known any better!” The man who was carrying him huffed in exasperation. “Man, I’m wiped out. I can’t think while I am this tired… let’s take a break, guys? There is no one here to see.” He grunted and unceremoniously dropped his burden to the ground.

 _Urgh, for fuck’s sake..._ Kenshin grunted pitifully. Thankfully, though, the rookies were too tired to care and just let him lie on the ground.

This suited Kenshin fine, even this small respite was a relief.

After repeated falls, his arms and shoulders felt like they were bruised pretty badly. To be honest, it was something of a miracle that neither of his collarbones was broken and that his shoulders hadn’t popped out of their sockets. What wasn’t good was the fact that he couldn’t feel his fingers properly. The rope tying his hands behind his back was unreasonably tight.

He needed to find a way to escape… but using ki was straight out. Even if he could focus enough to pull together his depleted reserves, he couldn’t risk passing out again.

However, if there was one good thing about having been carried like a sack and having his head covered for the whole morning, it was that his headache was mostly gone. He didn’t have the faintest idea why, but it seemed like the prolonged period in darkness had eased off the color show from his field of vision. Most of his disorientation was simply from having been carried with his head upside down, not from his ki-related trouble. However, his muscles still ached and he couldn’t keep from shaking, so he was far from decent fighting condition.

But where was Ito-san? He hadn’t heard even a cough from the old man for a while… Kenshin tried to sort out the mess of practically indistinguishable flickers of ki near him. Oh, there! Close by was the familiar presence he had learned to recognize with ease. The rookies had gotten fed up with Ito-san’s commentary a while ago and they had gagged him. Unfortunately for them, at that point it had been far too late, because they had been led completely astray.

“Say guys… what’s up with Battousai?” someone with a nice, mellow voice asked. “I didn’t see any blood or wounds on him when we tied him up. And I don’t believe for a second that story about him being drunk.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” another agreed. “Why is he like that?”

“I don’t care,” the gruff voice that Kenshin had been starting to recognize as belonging to the oaf who had carried him, bit off angrily. “As long as he is alive, they can question him at headquarters.”

“But aren’t you even a little bit curious?” the mellow voice asked again.

“No.”

“Well, if it’s alright by you… I am. So let me just check?”

“Awwwh, softie Akio-chan…” the others cooed mockingly.

But the gruff voice just huffed. “Feh, do as you like.”

The footsteps approached Kenshin and then, all of a sudden the haori covering his face was tugged away. The light was so bright that it made Kenshin’s eyes water, despite him trying to squeeze them shut. He blinked dazedly, trying to get rid of the wetness as he shied away from the light, turning his face to the ground.

An insistent hand grabbed his chin and prodded at his eyelids, forcing his eyes open.

 _Gah! It’s so bright!_ Kenshin groaned pitifully.

“Guys… didn’t all the rumors say that he has yellow eyes?” The mellow voice raised his voice. “This boy’s eyes are violet.”

“Really? Violet eyes?” someone piped up. His voice was full of a youth's curiosity. “I have never heard of anyone having violet eyes. Not even the foreigners in Yokohama had those. Green, yes. Blue, yes. And different shades of those, but never violet.”

“Yeah, I know,” the mellow voice, softie Akio, murmured. “But still… come and look.”

And then, there were two blurry shapes peering down at him.

“Well, damn. Right you are!” the youth said incredulously. “Are we sure this is _the_ Battousai? I mean, he has the scar on his cheek and his hair is really freaky red, but still, this little fella…”

Kenshin tried to blink the tears away from his eyes to clear his vision… and then, he could finally make out the details. The doubtful youth was a tall man in his late teens or so, but he had an impressive beard for his age. He couldn’t be much older than Kenshin, it was clear by his gangling height and the touch of guileless innocence in his eyes.

The man who was holding Kenshin’s chin was somewhat older. In his early to mid-twenties. He had a kind face, with soft brown eyes. He didn’t look like he was capable of harming a mouse, let alone a man – obviously a scholarly type. No wonder he had earned the nickname “softie Akio” from his peers. However, his ki felt steady enough, which hinted at some training in swordsmanship.

“Mmm, the rumors are always exaggerated,” softie Akio murmured thoughtfully. “The looks don’t always match the person. All I know is what I saw and what I didn’t see. You saw it the same as I, didn’t you? First, he was there, looking weak as a newborn kitten and then all of a sudden Suzuki dropped dead in two pieces and this guy collapsed right before my feet.”

He let go of Kenshin’s face and allowed him to curl into a ball again, to avoid the uncomfortable brightness of the morning sun. The worst of Kenshin’s shock was wearing away, leaving room for the more pressing concern: he needed to figure out a way to escape before this rookie squad got their act together. Despite Ito-san’s effective misdirection, their luck had to run out sooner than later.

“Say, Akio… why aren’t you angrier at him?” the bearded youth asked. “I heard your brother was killed by Battousai.”

“I don’t know,” Akio said. “I trained in Maekawa-sensei’s Chuetsu Ryu, defied my family, abandoned my work at the clinic… I spent all that effort just to get here. But now that I have Battosai here at my feet, just lying there helplessly… I don’t know.”

“Softie Akio-chaaaan!” someone called out from the distance. “What's up with Battousai? Did you get to play doctor enough?”

Akio huffed and raised his voice. “He isn’t wounded, not that I can see… but he is clearly in pain. He is still shaking and sweating, yet it isn’t fever, either. I don’t know. It’s rather bizarre. The best I can guess is some internal injury, but you guys didn’t kick him that hard, did you?”

Kenshin sighed softly, relieved not to be the object of their curiosity anymore. It was perfectly alright if they thought him weak. He was. Not that he was exactly useless anymore, but they didn’t need to know that. Subtly, he prodded at the ties holding his arms back, testing the strength and resilience of the knots. The rope was tight and strong around his bony wrists. No matter how hard he tugged, there was no way to get enough slack to slip his hands through. So what should he do? He didn’t have anything to cut the rope with and the nearest blade that he could see was at Akio’s waist.

Then heavy footsteps stomped nearby him and clothes rustled before someone grunted as if in pain. “Do you know what’s up with Battousai?” a gruff voice asked¨dangerously. Not to Kenshin, but…. Oh no.

“No, I don’t.”  Ito-san rasped tiredly.

Kenshin glanced up hastily between his lashes, only to see Ito-san on the ground just a few feet from him. The old man noticed it and gave him a rather nasty look, one that conveyed a clear message: _Why the hell are you worrying about me?! Let me handle these idiots and stop drawing their attention!_ Immediately Kenshin closed his eyes and fell slack, trying to pretend he was barely hanging on to consciousness. It wasn’t much of a show, but hopefully, it was convincing enough.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Sick or not, Battousai isn’t going to die on us anytime soon. Now, our priority is to get back to headquarters,” another voice declared. “So guys, wait here. I’ll double back to town and get us some directions or maybe even a map. You can camp out here in the meanwhile. When I’m back, let’s just cover the bastard’s hair and slip through. No one will question us if we look like we know where we are going.” The man paused. “And Takahashi… don’t get too excited. Remember, we want them alive.”

Then there were only four rookies left. The angry one, Takahashi, who had been carrying Kenshin and delivering kicks and punches with enthusiasm throughout the morning. Softie Akio, the bearded youth… and the fourth guy who never said much. Four tired rookie Mimawarigumi guarding two tied up and thoroughly beaten rebels.

Kenshin was completely helpless like this and he didn’t dare to move much. The rookies didn’t need much encouragement to vent their frustration on their prisoners. And what if they realized that it wasn’t worth the risk to take them back alive? Sure, he and Ito-san knew a lot – but these guys, they didn’t know that. For them, they were only an assassin and a random old man. Most of the rookies’ problems would quickly disappear if they were to take only his head with them…

Besides, Ito-san didn’t look too good: the rough handling they had suffered through this morning had been harder on the old man. And yet, even now he could see Ito-san testing his ropes, trying to find a way to get his hands free. If only they had something to cut them! Kenshin glanced at the nearest rookie and the swords at his sash. It was useless. He would have to pull the sword out with his teeth or feet, and while he could maybe, possibly, do so tied like he was… after that? There were still four guys and he was weak and without ki.

But at the same time… now was the best chance they had to escape.

There were only four of them left.

There was no telling when the last one would return with a map and directions, and then it would be too late for anything other than to wistfully hope that some rebel supporter would see them and alert their men… it was a fool’s hope at best. Kenshin didn’t want to rely on that. The ropes around his wrists kept nagging at him. He knew there was no chance for him to escape with his hands tied up like this, but honestly speaking, the ropes wouldn’t be much of an issue if he could somehow make his thumb disappear…

For some reason, that was the only thing he could focus on.

His hands were bony and slender, they had always been so. If only he could somehow displace his thumb joint, he could slip his hands through. But forcing it could ruin his hands and without his hands, we would be useless as a swordsman. _Always protect your hands_ , Master had bellowed at him, ever since that night when he had found him at the graveyard.

“I don’t know about you guys… but just looking at that bastard makes me angry,” the gruff voice, Takashi said. and his ki presence flared with anger, no, _fury_. “I don’t care how pathetic he looks. I had to carry him and he puked on me. He is a killer, a terrorist… total and utter scum. I say I deserve some revenge.”

Clothes rustled and then the heavy footsteps approached.

_Uh oh…_

“Takahashi…” Akio muttered worriedly.

And then a terrible, strong kick hit his ribs and they all heard the sound of bone snapping.

Kenshin grunted against the sheer agony that burst on his left side, wheezing for breath… but then the next kick landed and all the air escaped his lungs again. His eyes teared up, and he gritted his teeth, trying to keep from crying out loud. The last thing he wanted was to give these guys was the pleasure of seeing how much this hurt.

“Stop it!” Akio screamed. “Didn’t you hear what Iwahashi said? We need them alive!”

“Shut up, Kiyosa–”

A loud laughter interrupted Takahashi’s words as another rookie jeered. “Yeah, shut up, Softie Akio-chan! Iwahashi isn’t our leader, and neither are you! We are all the same rank here and Takahashi has a point!”

Another kick landed on Kenshin’s chest and he couldn’t focus on anything but trying to curl up and avoid the hits as best he could.

“You like that, scum? How about some more?” Takahashi huffed in excitement, kicking him again, this time in the stomach…

 _Oh gods, oh gods… how the hell am I going to survive this?_ Kenshin thought madly, turning on his stomach and burying his face in the ground. He coughed up dirt and dust, just trying to breathe, hoping against all hope that they wouldn’t break his arms now that his midriff was relatively safe…

“Hey, lad! Yes, you, Takahashi! What are you kicking Himura-kun for? He just kills who I order him to!”

Shocked exclamations spurred forth from the rookies, but then, one of them, the bearded youth, focused on Ito-san and asked dangerously, “You order him to…?”

 _No way, no, this can’t be happening…_ Kenshin’s eyes widened in shock.

Ito-san lifted his chin proudly. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Ito Juzo, the head of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi. Just why do you think Battousai was escorting me? I am too important to go alone!”

Those boasting words were… half-true. Ito-san was important, but he wasn’t up to Katsura-san’s level. However, it was a good bet that these rookies didn’t have any idea who the real power players were among the Ishin Shishi. Kenshin swallowed in panic, realizing what the old man was intending with this stunt: Ito-san had concluded he couldn’t get rid of his bonds on his own, so he was trying to create a distraction, giving Kenshin a chance to work out an escape.

Takahashi grinned nastily. “Well, I don’t mind delivering some payback on you either!”

And all of a sudden, Kenshin’s need for an escape became urgent. There was no time to think through his options and calculate the risks while waiting for a better chance. No… that brute Takahashi, his ki was so angry. He didn’t mind dishing out pain and Ito-san was an old man. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. And what if they found out Ito-san was leading them on again? They would beat him to death from sheer anger and excitement!

No, there was no better chance coming his way… not in time. Kenshin swallowed dryly, feeling dread rising on his tongue. The four rookies gathered around Ito-san, all of their attention caught by the spectacle of Takahashi kicking him and shouting insults and questions. No one was watching Kenshin. If he could slip his hands free, he wouldn’t need his ki to kill them, not if he just could grab the nearest sword by surprise…

And really, the only thing that was keeping his hands secured was that pesky thumb joint. Without it in the way, the ropes wouldn’t give him any trouble… and what did the pain matter, really? At this point, he already hurt everywhere. And Ito-san… the old man wouldn’t last much longer. The old man was frail. He wasn’t a fighter. That damn Takahashi had to know it and he was still kicking him just for fun!

Kenshin took hold of his left hand, feeling out his wrist and how the thumb joint worked. It was better to start with the less important hand. He took a deep breath and twisted, then pulled. The thumb popped right of the socket and he hissed, biting his lips to keep silent. He drew his injured hand against the ropes, pushing the freely lurching thumb inwards to lie against his palm, and pulled. It wasn’t easy, but like this, yes, it was working. The rough hemp rope bit into his skin nastily, but it just didn’t matter enough.

He knew pain and this was _nothing_.

Then suddenly, his left hand was free, and the ropes slacked around his right wrist, enough for him to slip it free without causing himself more harm. Lying still, keeping his hands behind his back, he gritted his teeth and pulled his left thumb back into the socket. It hurt like hell and his grip was slick with blood…he really couldn’t feel anything else but the pain in his left hand. He flexed his fingers...

_Oh, fuck it._

Just his luck, the whole hand was completely useless.

Thankfully, no one was watching him. Kenshin gathered his feet under him slowly, eyes locked on his targets. The nearest man was the bearded youth. His back was to him and he was asking Ito-san something… not bothered by Takahashi’s brutality. The mousy softie Akio was on the sidelines, gnawing at his knuckles, his entire attention caught by the spectacle. The last guy was cheering Takahashi on…

_I’ll kill them all._

Fury storming inside him, Kenshin dashed forward, grabbed hold of the bearded youth’s sword with his only good hand and pulled it free. He didn’t have time to think, he moved on reflex. The big guy, the most dangerous one Takahashi went down first – Kenshin slashed his throat all the way to the spine. The bearded youth was frozen in shock, his stance open and defenseless when Kenshin cut him open from right hip to left shoulder. It was a cruel and weak strike, it didn’t have the strength to cut him apart and guarantee a fast death, but the bleeding would kill him soon enough.

The silent one who had cheered Takahashi on was next, and he had managed to recover from his surprise enough to pull out his own sword. He screamed in anger and attacked Kenshin out of pure desperation. Kenshin parried the strike weakly, his right hand wavering from the stress of holding up such a heavy katana one-handed, but he managed to misdirect it to the side and then he slipped around the rookie, stabbing him through the back. The rookie dropped to his knees and tried to grab the blade that was skewering him, but his hands didn’t have enough strength to hold the blade back as Kenshin put his foot on the boy’s back and pulled it free.

And then, there was only one.

The mousy, scholarly, desperately out of his league Softie Akio was shaking in fright, holding his sword out in a perfect defensive stance. Yes, it was clear – Akio had trained for years in swordsmanship, honing his skills until he could hold his own in a fight.

However, despite everything on the surface; the fact that Kenshin was about to collapse from his wounds and exhaustion, and that the Mimawarigumi samurai was mostly fresh… Kenshin didn’t have a single moment’s doubt that he could kill this man. It was all in the eyes. Despite his polished sword style, Softie Akio wasn’t a killer. He doubted this Akio had ever hurt _anyone_.

Kenshin’s hand shook as he held up the loaned sword at the ready. It was long and awkward to handle, far too heavy for him to use one-handed. And fuck, he was tired. Kenshin narrowed his eyes and whispered softly. “Please, leave.”

Softie Akio’s eyes widened at his words… and then, it was like something broke. The scholarly Mimawarigumi rookie dropped his sword and took a step back, then another, and turned to run.

Kenshin closed his eyes and sighed, utterly weary.

He walked to Ito-san, cut the rope that bound the old man’s hands, and knelt by his side. Ito-san was still conscious, but barely. His face was a mess. Bruises were darkening and swelling, his right eye was already swollen shut and his lips were bloodied, and he coughed weakly. Given all the kicks to the mid-drift, it was a good bet that the old man was also bleeding internally and most likely, he had a concussion as well.

“Ito-san, please – wake up,” said Kenshin softly. He gently slapped the old man on the cheek, trying to rouse him. “Please, we have to go.”

The old man pried his eyes open agonizingly slowly. “Huh… Himura-kun. Is it over?”

“Yes,” Kenshin confirmed, before glancing around the clearing. There were three dead samurai... and yes, there were the swords the rookies had taken from them. “Wait a moment, please.”

Kenshin awkwardly gathered up their swords under his otherwise useless left arm as he thought about how to carry everything. By the position of sun, it was now mid-morning – far too late for him to be out in the open without a disguise. Worse, the last Mimawarigumi man would be coming back any moment now. They really needed to get moving.

But how could they move through the streets to the nearest safehouse?

Perhaps, it would be better to hide in the woods for the night and then slip back into town under  the cover of darkness… but Ito-san wasn’t looking too good. They needed to get him to a doctor. And if Kenshin was being entirely honest with himself, he wasn’t up to camping either. His left hand was swelling and bleeding sluggishly where the hemp rope had bit into the skin, he had at least one broken rib, countless bruises, not to mention the rest of his issues…

But if he went into town looking like this, everyone with a working pair of eyes could figure out who he was.

Kenshin sighed.

Fuck it all to hell.

Without allowing himself to hesitate, Kenshin untied his hakama and stepped out it, laying the swords on the pleated, wide-legged trousers and rolling the fabric around them. He secured his hakama sash around them, in the manner of a makeshift traveling bundle. He tugged his hair loose from its high tail, combed it with his fingers so that most of his long bangs fell to cover his cross-shaped scar, and arranged the rest to tumble down his shoulder to his chest. He adjusted his kimono, smoothing out the creases as best he could and securing his sash higher, a lot higher than usual, tying it in a somewhat awkward knot in the front, something like he had seen cheap yujo do to market their availability.

Preparations done, he strapped the sword bundle to his back and heaved Ito-san up on his feet, propping the old man’s left arm around his shoulder, and started to limp forward determinedly. It was slow going; every single step hurt, but the old man could walk well enough with a little assistance and this would work. This had to work. There was no other choice.

“Himura-kun… do I want to know what you are planning?” Ito-san wheezed.

“No,” Kenshin grunted and kept going, absolutely refusing to blush, because right now, his girly and youthful looks just might save their lives. After all, if people figured he was nothing more than a rentboy from Shimabara, they wouldn’t question them and with any luck, it would look like he was merely helping his beaten patron back home.

Ito-san guffawed loudly and then groaned. “Ah, gods… even laughing hurts.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 01.07.2016.


	6. The Expendables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for the delay between updates. There were a couple other projects that took my time during the summer. However, as an apology, this chapter is extra long - so enjoy. :)
> 
> Warnings: Violence, bad language and description of warfare

# Chapter 35. The Expendables

 

The less said about the episode with the Mimawarigumi the better, but afterward, even Kenshin had to admit that there was a sliver of truth to the claim that Himura Battousai dropped his pants for Ito-san. The men joked about it relentlessly in the following weeks, but thankfully the talk didn't spread further. In a way, it was their unit's personal gag, and no one else's. Besides, even if no one said anything, everyone knew that the daring return through the town’s mid-morning rush had saved the old man's life.

Not his career, though.

Takahashi’s kicks had broken a few of Ito-san’s ribs, cracked more, and riddled his whole torso with bruises. Worse, Kenshin’s fears were true and the old man had bled internally. The doctor had been of the opinion that Ito-san had only survived through sheer luck and any further excitement or physical exertion would threaten his life. So no one was surprised when Katsura-san dismissed Ito-san back to Choshuu, to handle clan matters back in the province.

However, Kenshin couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. Not just because of his friendship with Ito-san, but also because everybody had genuinely liked the old man. Ito-san was the sort of superior who not only got results, but to whom people could talk freely.

The episode plagued Kenshin’s thoughts for weeks and made Ito-san’s constant lectures about his wastefulness with ki finally sink in. If he hadn’t been so proud, so committed to his morals, he would have listened to Ito-san’s advice. He would have been more careful, more efficient, and they wouldn’t have been captured in the first place.

Yes, it was all his fault. Because he’d screwed up… they had almost died.

When it came to his own health, well, his broken rib was wrapped tight and healing well enough. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of his left hand. The broken skin from the rope burns was still raw, easily irritated, and an infection risk. His attempt at popping his thumb joint back into its socket had been passably good, but the doctor had still wanted to redo it, just to make sure it healed right. Apparently, his stunt could have easily ruined his hand; if it wasn’t allowed to heal right, the joint could either heal too loose or knot too tight. Because of this, Kenshin was firmly forbidden from gripping anything with his left hand, practicing swordsmanship, or doing anything that might hamper his healing.

In a couple days, his headaches and the burning feel in his muscles had faded away on their own. Those had come from ki overuse – pure and simple. Even Kenshin had realized that without asking the doctor. Besides, what could a mere doctor do about it? Nothing. While ki was known among swordsmen, no one else used it internally like Kenshin and as such, there was nothing the doctor could do to help him with it. No, the best he could do was to avoid using ki while he was recovering, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Kenshin had finally begun to understand that he had become overly dependent on using the internal ki-enhancement trick. He could fight perfectly well without it, better than most. True, he wasn’t the fastest or strongest. He was small, his short arms limited his range, and his natural speed wasn’t up to the abilities of prodigies like Okita Souji, but he was still agile and his style was solid, unique. Honestly, he was good enough to handle most fights without needing to use ki at all. So, if he was on the verge of using too much ki, he could easily manage without.

It was a valuable lesson – one that he had needed, if he was perfectly honest with himself.

Unfortunately, the increased tension with the Bakufu and the hurried preparations for the coming war made it impossible for him to take sick leave. So, after only two days of leave, he was back on bodyguard duty, sitting in on meetings as a fancy threatening tool for Katsura-san. As long as he kept his injured hand out of sight, covered by his gauntlet, no one was the wiser and Hitokiri Battousai’s reputation as an invincible warrior wasn’t tarnished. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to sit there with his muscles aching from ki overuse, his broken rib smarting from the slightest movement, the raw wounds and contusions chafing against subtly wrapped bandages, but he tried not to let his discomfort show by distancing himself with his thoughts. He was getting quite good at it, too.

Besides, it was far better to guard meetings than to sit uselessly at the inn. It was better this way, truly. After all, everyone was struggling to prepare for war and he had gone and made himself next to useless with his failures.

 

* * *

 

Then, at the beginning of the fifth month, Bakufu finally started their march on Choshuu.

It was time.

Kenshin and Katsura rode to Osaka and from there, sailed to Hagi. They had done all they could in the Capital, and now Katsura-san was needed to help with defense preparations and making sure everything went as planned.

And when it came to Kenshin, well…

"Kenshin, the Bakufu’s warships are the key. If we can take them, the Bakufu will lose their courage. Will you lend your strength against them?"

It wasn’t a question, not really. Katsura-san knew his resolve, knew how much he was willing to sacrifice. They both knew all too well how much was riding on this battle.

So he nodded, and that was it – no further discussion necessary.

For Kenshin, sailing was a new experience. He had never been on the sea before and even though it was only for a couple days, he found the trip far more pleasant than riding, if for no other reason than that it didn’t jostle his injuries as badly. Honestly, he had come to the conclusion that if he had to choose, he would take a broken rib over a busted hand any day. Bones were easy enough to bind and keep still, but hands… who knew that trying to live with only one hand was so damn annoying? Since he got the injury, even the most ordinary routines in his life had become troublesome – from dressing, eating, and bathing, not to mention riding one-handed. And still, despite his best efforts to allow it to heal, his thumb joint smarted at the slightest provocation. Annoying, indeed.

Kenshin was pleasantly surprised to find out he wasn’t the seasick sort. It was a huge relief. Especially after he had been forced to watch as a few of the other Choshuu men travelling with them puked over the railing every now and then, or moaned pitifully through the night. What was so off-setting about the swaying of the ship? Why did it affect them so badly? It wasn’t _that_ bad. Kenshin had even been doing kata on the deck a few times a day, trying to get used to the feel of a moving surface beneath his feet. He had even come to enjoy the challenge it set for him. Though, admittedly, he could have done without the audience. Just what was so interesting about seeing someone do basic sword drills? It wasn’t like swords were rare. Every samurai had them and at least rudimentary training to use them.

Or were they staring at him, again?

Kenshin frowned in annoyance and adjusted _her_ shawl a bit higher up around his face, to cover his scar more thoroughly. It the only thing he had taken with him on this journey and he kept it with him at all times. He’d heard some men comment about the color and the beautiful, flowery embroidery, saying that wearing such an item made him look girlish, but what did it matter? It had been one of _her_ most treasured possessions and it was meant to be used. It was comforting. And if Choshuu lost this war and he died – a real possibility, for the enemy force was overwhelming and there were so many things that could go wrong with their plans – he wanted to have _her_ shawl with him when the time came.

She had died wearing it.

She had bled on it, and even now, seeing the stains reminded him of his failures.

Yes, to die wearing this shawl… it was only fitting.

Not that Kenshin exactly planned on dying – it just didn't hurt to be prepared, that was all. Besides, samurai went into battle knowing they were already dead, or so he had heard. Bushido didn't really make much sense to him. He wasn't a samurai, had never been one. But he knew most of their philosophy, etiquette, and mannerisms by heart these days. How could he not? He had been playing the role and living with the warrior caste almost exclusively for years, meeting people and listening to their conversations. Truly, these three years with the Choshuu rebels had changed him.

He would be turning seventeen this summer.

An odd thought.

In a way, he was returning to the only home he had ever known, going back to Hagi with Katsura-san.

Choshuu was where he and his master had spent their winters in his youth. It was the only stable place he’d had, ever since sickness had taken his family and he had been sold to the procurer. What was Master doing now? Writing poetry? Drinking sake? Keeping true to the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi?

Leaning his arms against the ship’s railing, Kenshin frowned in thought. Truthfully speaking, it was only partially true to say he was from Choshuu.

Even now he didn't have the faintest idea of where he had been born. As a child, names hadn't made any sense to him. From what little he remembered about his family and the little village by the mountain side, it could have been just about anywhere in Japan. Well, at least anywhere in the southwest. The procurer's caravan couldn't have travelled that far during the autumn and he knew they must have been heading for the major entertainment districts, which meant Kyoto, Osaka or Edo. Maybe he should take some time to seek answers when all this was over? That is, if he survived to see the revolution come true. It would be nice to pray for his family and ancestors during Obon Matsuri at least once.

 _Yes, I should do that,_ Kenshin decided, and tilted his face to meet the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean. The sea was vast, unknown, and almost terrifying, but there was something beautiful and mysterious about is as well.  

He smiled.

It was nice to be alive.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the harbor at Hagi the next day, where Takasugi-san and his second-in-command, Yamagata-san, were waiting with four horses. Takasugi-san was looking remarkably pale and thin, almost sickly.

Seeing his friend, Katsura-san frowned.

So did Kenshin.

However, the man in question was jovial and just as energetic as always when addressing them. “Kido-san, glad you are finally here.” He grinned and turned to Kenshin. “And Himura-san, long time no see! I almost didn’t recognize you, boy! You have grown!”

Kenshin couldn’t help but blink at him in puzzlement. Grown? Who? He was as short as ever, wasn’t he? But then again, it had been three years since he had last seen Takasugi-san, enough time for him to change even if he hadn’t noticed any particular difference himself… Thankfully, no one had waited for an answer and his awkward silence wasn’t commented on. Instead, Takasugi-san and Katsura-san had started a lively conversation as they mounted their horses.

They were going to spend the night at Takasugi-san's estate, one of the larger houses in the residential area at the edge of town. However, riding through the streets, Kenshin couldn't help but wonder at how small Hagi had become. He remembered it as a bustling city, full of people and exciting sights. But now, somehow, it seemed old-fashioned, almost frozen in time, and – well, like a tightly packed, poor, backwoods town.

Kenshin couldn’t help but scoff at the sheer ridiculousness of his thoughts.

He had been born in a small hut on a packed mud floor. His family hadn’t had money to buy even the simplest of toys for him or his brothers, not to mention anything finer. And now, he had the gall to criticize Choshuu’s capital? Hah! Truly, living on a stipend and working closely with Katsura-san had made him blind to wealth.

Even now, he was dressed in simplified finery: an expensive, high-quality silk kimono, hakama, and haori in a formal but discreet style. He was dressed far better than the majority of people around him, as was expected of the honorable Kido Takayoshi's bodyguard. He got to eat good food, carry the best armor and weaponry, have the best medical care… meet influential and powerful people, listen to their conversations and observe them. True, he didn't care for material wealth – he never had – but realizing how well things really were for him made him feel somewhat ashamed, and well, humbled.

After a multiple course dinner, they set to discuss the coming war with Takasugi-san and Yamagata-san. At first, Kenshin was surprised to see that Takasugi-san's second-in-command was included in the private meeting. He had thought Yamagata-san too direct, too much a soldier to be interested in Katsura-san’s politics. However, Kenshin was beginning to suspect that Takasugi-san was dying and grooming Yamagata-san as his successor, not only in the Kiheitai, but also in his work with the Ishin Shishi.

Even odder was Katsura-san’s insistence that Kenshin partake in this meeting as well. They were among friends tonight; Katsura-san had no need for a bodyguard. So why would his presence be necessary? Surely no one expected him to comment on the defense plans? He didn’t know anything about war! His understanding was rudimentary at best, born out of a few discussions with his Master as a child and having fought the Bakufu’s squads in Kyoto – nothing that qualified him to discuss the movements of thousands of men!

Yet, despite his quiet protests, here he was, sitting with Katsura-san, Takasugi-san, and Yamagata-san, avoiding the fine sake they had cracked open, trying not to let his awkwardness show.

“The alliance with Satsuma is all but sealed. If we can hold our own, Saigo and Okubo will push the domain officials to agree to a formal alliance with Choshuu,” Katsura-san was saying. “We have negotiated fairly good terms for us, and they have agreed not to join the conflict, on either side. Because of this, the only battle-hardened troops the Bakufu has in the campaign are from Aizu. I managed to encourage the last few straggling domains to stay back, too. So now, the total tally coming against us is about one hundred thousand samurai and their new warships.”

“How many ships are there? How many men can they carry?” asked Yamagata-san, his eyes narrowed intently, “And what about their weaponry?”

“The fleet’s flagship is Kanrin Maru. It carries about sixty men and has twelve cannons on the side.” Katsura-san peered down at his sake saucer thoughtfully, swirling the translucent drink idly. “They have five ships of that caliber.”

“What about the rest of the fleet?” Takasugi-san asked.

“None of this is for certain, but the intel I have suggests they will try to take the islands first.”

Takasugi-san grimaced and spat in a bowl kept by his side.

The slime was tinted red, Kenshin noticed with increasing worry. So the illness was affecting his lungs… damn. Most likely it was the quiet death. Tuberculosis.

"Well, this will be an interesting war," Takasugi-san said finally. "That army is so large that their options for attack are limited. Either they will launch an attack on several fronts, or try to take us by force." He scoffed dryly. "For the first time, I'm glad that Choshuu is such a remote and mountainous piece of shitty land. It's kept us poor and out of the way for centuries, but it will serve us well in this conflict. Where do you think they will attack?"

“They want to crush us, but I sincerely doubt that even the most foolhardy commander will try to attack Hagi straight on.” Katsura-san murmured thoughtfully. “No… they will seek to isolate us, bleed us dry, and make an example of us.”

“So, Suo coastal line it is,” Yamagata-san said decisively. “The main force will attack the Oshima area and march from there. Given how many men they have, they'll benefit from blocking us from outside support by taking the smaller islands in the area as well.”

“Yes, most likely.” Katsura inclined his head. “You have a solid sense of strategy, Yamagata-san.”

“If that’s going to be their plan… they will seek to soften our resistance with bombardment from their new naval arsenal and give their army a chance to regroup after the march.” Takasugi-san nodded, “Yes, it’s only logical. They will seek to demoralize us by showing off the might of the legendary black ships. A weak bastard like Iemochi would love the irony.”

“If they get us running it will save them the confrontation. In fact, I bet they are relying on that – trying to threaten us with numbers and odds, make us desperate.” Katsura-san observed coolly. “But the fact of the matter is that most of their army doesn’t want to fight. They are here out of obligation and duty, not because of sincere conviction. They are armed with old-fashioned weaponry, bows and arrows, spears and swords. More damningly, most of them have never seen war. Samurai these days are mostly bureaucrats, cushioned by hereditary right. When they are asked to fight alongside their rivals, can they put aside their differences? I think not. No, our men have seen conflict, they know how much is at stake – it’s a critical difference.”

Takasugi-san scoffed in amusement, his eyes glinting darkly, “Oh boy, will they be surprised. My Kiheitai will crush them.” Then he hummed and continued more somberly. “The main force at the beach, the warships and their attack on the islands, the Kiheitai could face any one of those – but not all at once. It's a dilemma. Our supplementary samurai and ronin troops aren't as well trained. Should we split our forces and reduce their effectiveness? Or should we make a gamble? And even then, those damn warships are going to be a problem. Going against them will be difficult. We would need to lure them close to the shoreline to sink them with our field cannons, or send men to board them with smaller vessels. However, their cannons are better than ours and those steam engines make them dangerously fast and maneuverable.”

A thoughtful silence landed on them as they took in the dilemma.

Then, Katsura-san glanced at Kenshin and remarked to Takasugi-san, “I was thinking of sending Himura against them.”

Takasugi-san raised an eyebrow.

But before he could say anything, Yamagata-san burst out, “One man? Are you insane?”

Katsura-san gave Yamagata-san a pointed look which stifled his protests and said, “No. I was thinking… attacking those ships with a large force is too noticeable; they would sink our ships before our men could get close enough to board them. However, a small team could attempt to take them one by one under the cover of night.”

Takasugi-san rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then looked aside and poured himself more sake.

However, Yamagata-san was staring at Katsura-san and Kenshin in disbelief, taken aback by the suggestion.

Even Kenshin could admit that Katsura-san's idea was reckless. By any sane calculation, it wouldn't have even the slightest chance of working: five warships, each with twelve cannons and sixty men, against a single team? However, the enemy would be distracted by the battle on the shoreline, and if they could sneak in, it wouldn’t be about numbers anymore. He had fought against horrible odds before, killing whole Bakufu squads alone, and in this case, most of the targets wouldn’t be battle-hardened Shinsengumi or Mimawarigumi, but ordinary sailors.  

Finally, Takasugi-san broke the silence, asking simply, “Is Himura that good?”

“Yes,” Katsura-san answered confidently.

Honestly, it felt good to be trusted by his leader, but Kenshin felt the need to mention a slight problem, “The numbers aren’t that much of an issue, that they aren’t. This unworthy one has handled such odd before. However, the same can’t be said for the length of the fight or getting to the ships unnoticed.”

Takasugi-san turned to look at him, seeking his eyes. Then, he nodded, as if he had seen something – determination, perhaps? “Very well,” he said. “’I’ll detach a squad of my best men with you. The Bakufu’s main force will attack in the early morning, so the warships should take advantage of dusk to cover their approach. If possible, you’ll use it as well, to take them one by one through stealth. I don’t expect miracles, but every ship you manage to overtake will be a victory for us.”

Then he turned to look at his second-in-command. “Yamagata-san, you will lead half of the Kiheitai and the supplementary troops against the main force – your priority is to block the passes and flank them at the shoreline. Keep your artillery on the hills overlooking the shore. If Himura’s attack fails, you will need to deal with the ships that get too close.”

“Yes, sir,” Yamagata-san nodded gravely, “but what about you?”

Takasugi-san spat to his side and wiped his bloodstained lips with his sleeve. "I'll take the rest of the troops and ships and stop their attack on the islands."

“But…” Yamagata-san protested.

“It’s not ideal.” Takasugi-san grimaced. “It never is – all our plans depend on their actions. But, this way, we stand a chance.”

 

* * *

 

The following days were a rush of arranging defenses and gathering troops. The Kiheitai had been mobilized to Suo early on, to set up artillery along the coast and blockades on the roads and mountain passes. The rest of the three thousand Choshuu samurai were organized and ready to march at the end of the fifth month. The Bakufu’s troops were moving at a pace that met their expectations; the attack would come during the first week of the sixth month.

It was fascinating to see how the conversation between friends, shared over sake and a good meal, was the deciding factor behind Choshuu's movements. Katsura-san was widely respected, but he had no grand title, acting more like a spider pulling at strings within the web, influencing other players to dance to his tune.

Kenshin's days were spent escorting Katsura-san, sitting in on his meetings, and trying to look like he actually had some reason to be there. Well, other than being the fearsome "Hitokiri Battosai." Oh yes, the Battousai's legend had reached the province, at least judging by the number of stares and whispered comments behind his back. He tried to ignore them the best he could, but honestly, it wasn’t easy. In a way, he had gotten used to the attention his looks and questionable reputation had attracted in Kyoto because it was fleeting; there was always something more interesting to stare at, such as Westerners, loud and colorful entertainers, or even religious revelers. However, here in the countryside? He stuck out like a sore thumb.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t retreat to secluded spots or try wearing a disguise of some sort. No, Katsura-san needed to use his fearsome reputation to bolster morale, just like before.

It was tiring.

How nice would it be to just be one among many? Just a normal man instead of this celebrity, place on a pedestal for the cause?

Truly, Kenshin missed his anonymity.

However, it had been his decision to let his description become known. If he had just hidden his face, used a hat or a scarf or something, he could still be useful to the cause and get a breather from the fame whenever he wanted. But no, he just had to be a stubborn idiot back then. Not that he exactly regretted his decision, but still…

Then, finally, they got the confirmation from their spies about the Bakufu's movements: the attack was going to come just as predicted. The main force would gather on the Suo-Oshima coast and was expected to attack the morning of the seventh day of the sixth month.

Suddenly, everything started moving and Kenshin was placed under Yamagata-san’s command, told to get ready to assault the warships.

They rode to the coast together. The Kiheitai commander was in a dark, pensive mood and every now and then, he glanced at Kenshin out of the corner of his eye. Kenshin tried not to let those evaluating looks get to him. Once upon a time, this man had been a friend of sorts, the only man in the Kiheitai who believed in him.

Now… it didn’t seem to be so.

Was it because he had become the Hitokiri Battousai? Kenshin frowned, tilting his head in consideration as he took in Yamagata-san. No, it couldn’t be that. They both understood hard choices, believed in the same cause.

Perhaps, it was because Yamagata-san didn’t believe that Katsura’s mad gambit against the warships could succeed?

...Maybe it couldn’t, but it was the best chance they had.

Katsura-san had given him this task, believed in him, so Kenshin would give it his all. He knew exactly how important winning this war was for Choshuu, for the Ishin Shishi, even for his dream of the new era. Those warships were an important, game-changing piece in this delicate game – they had the power to wreck all their plans if they weren't stopped. So many things could go wrong tomorrow, but the key to victory had been thrust on the shoulders of a small group of Kiheitai soldiers... and himself.

Suddenly, Kenshin had no trouble understanding Yamagata-san’s dark mood.

He swallowed slowly.

_Yeah… No pressure._

_If you fail, not only will you die – but so will hundreds of men, and there is no telling whether Choshuu can stop the Bakufu after that._

It was well after midnight when they finally reached the coastal hills where the Kiheitai were camping, and even at first sight, he couldn't help but think that the Kiheitai had come a long way since he had been a recruit. Back then, they hadn't been much more than Takasugi-san's vision of a unified paramilitary troop tailored after Western concepts. Now, the Kiheitai was a heavily armed, diligent, and experienced troop, hardened for war in the Battle of Shimonoseki Strait. The boast that they were the best fighting force in the country wasn't just empty talk, but rang true even to his inexperienced eye.

Yamagata-san led him past the tents, down to the beach where a small squadron of men was waiting by two row boats. Fifteen men, all armed with their new Western rifles, wearing Kiheitai uniforms and white headbands.

As they dismounted, the men stood at attention out of respect for Yamagata-san, though quite a few of them shot Kenshin questioning glances. Well, undoubtedly he was an odd sight: small, young, dressed in traditional kimono and hakama, wearing a pale shawl around his neck. Thankfully, it was dark enough that none of them could see the red in his hair.

Yamagata-san nodded at the men promptly and raised his voice, “You might be wondering why you have been taken out of your normal units. Never fear – it doesn't mean that we don't have an enemy for you to fight.”

The joke raised tense chuckles.

Everybody knew the odds they were facing. Even the most foolhardy of men would be unsure when facing the terrifying numbers Bakufu had gathered. A hundred thousand men – that was thirty times more than their forces.

Kenshin stood a few steps behind Yamagata-san, obscured by darkness. Watching, but not really participating. He was a bit hesitant as well. He wasn't good with people; he didn't have the faintest idea about how to break the ice and introduce himself to these men. Usually, he didn't have to. Everybody knew him or about him, at least enough to stay out of his way…

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option this time. He knew his limits and no matter how efficient he tried to be, facing hundreds of opponents in subsequent fights all on his own was sheer madness. No, somehow, these Kiheitai men would have to buy him time to recover and figure out how to pace himself in the fight. In essence, for the first time, he couldn’t fight alone – he _had_ to rely on a team.

“You have already proven your capabilities to us, each and every one of you,” Yamagata-san was saying. “So naturally, we have set out for you the best reward such honorable service merits: a more difficult task. Out there, the Bakufu has brought along their deadliest arsenal: five modern warships, each with a crew of sixty men and twelve cannons along their sides.”

A stunned silence landed on the group, but then one of them snorted loudly, “Twenty Bakufu dogs for each of us? My, my – Commander Yamagata, you are in a generous mood!”

“You’re welcome, Yasu-san.” Yamagata-san inclined his head as if he was a gracious host giving a gift.

The men burst into laughter, breaking the tense mood that had overtaken them.

It was admirable, in a way, to use humor to fend off their fear.

Yamagata-san continued, "You will use darkness as a cover and row to the warships when they slow down or anchor in preparation to bombard the shoreline and soften our forces, much like the legendary Black Ships. Your task will be to prevent that at any cost. Take those ships one by one, kill the defenders, and make sure they cannot fire on us. I don't care how, simply make it happen. However, if possible, we would like to capture some of those ships. They are valuable tools of war we could use later on."

“So… an easy task: kill the men, stop the bombardment, but don’t sink the goods?” One of the men laughed mockingly, the very same one who had questioned Yamagata-san earlier – Yasu-san? Then, the man grew quiet, shooting an outright glower at Yamagata-san. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Just about so,” Yamagata-san admitted. “However, you are not going alone. In fact, your job will not be so much about killing the enemy, but rather, creating cover and supporting the real deal. We’ve brought one of our own back from Kyoto for this. You might have heard of him.” Yamagata-san turned to him, motioning with his hand. “Come closer, Himura. Don’t skulk on the sidelines.”

Kenshin sighed but stepped closer anyway.

“This young man here is Himura-san,” Yamagata-san started with a flourish, “but most people know him as Hitokiri Battousai.”

 

* * *

 

The whispered comments and disbelieving stares directed at him started right after Yamagata-san left. It was to be expected. He was used to such a reaction, Kenshin tried to tell himself. However, there was a certain skeptical feel to their gossip that annoyed him, especially when they saw his tightly-wrapped left hand. True, his left thumb hurt whenever he moved it too much and the joint felt looser than it should be, so he had decided to go for the safest option and had wrapped his hand once more as they waited for the go signal. But why did people feel the need to comment on it? It wasn't like he was invalid or even injured anymore. His thumb was as well as it could be, considering everything.

Then, all of a sudden, the whispers stilled as a large man, the very same one who had talked back to Yamagata-san, approached him with a dark glower on his face. Kenshin tensed, eyeing the marks of an officer on the man’s uniform and resolved to keep calm. He needed these men's help and support, and if that meant he needed to prove himself to them, he would. He had done so before. Not in a long while, but it was hardly a new experience for him.

Yasu-san – what an odd name, Kenshin noted – looked like a true soldier. His face was weather-beaten and hardened in a manner that made it hard to pinpoint his age: more than twenty, less than fifty. His hair was cropped short, his face was wide, his nose crooked – most likely it had been broken several times, but he also had deep laugh lines etched in his cheeks and around his eyes. There was a certain feel of maturity to his gaze, not in a refined sense, but like he had seen much and was still laughing despite it. His ki was uncontrolled, moving like a vortex beneath a still surface. Ah! A thinker with an agitated temper.

Interesting.

Yet, for all that… it was obvious that he wasn’t a swordsman.

Kenshin’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the details and the picture they formed: this man was not a samurai.

The Kiheitai had recruited peasants, hadn’t it? And given Yasu-san’s brutish manners, his rough speech, the name that everyone called him by even though it couldn’t be a clan name… everything about him screamed “unrefined”. It was an odd thing to notice. Kenshin had fought solely among the samurai caste for so long that he never thought about people’s origins anymore, but this man was a little bit like himself, wasn’t he? Yasu-san, too, must have chosen to fight for his beliefs and done well, despite his origins.

With that in mind, Kenshin exhaled slowly and evenly met Yasu-san’s gaze, trying to bury his hesitations and seem a bit more welcoming.

“So, Himura…” Yasu-san started, forgoing all politeness and addressing him directly without any suffixes, like a close friend or particularly straightforward superior would have dared. “Yamagata said our first priority is to support you while you do the killing. So, what will it be? What do you need from us?”

Kenshin blinked, somewhat taken aback by his brusque manner. “Er… this unworthy one hasn’t really fought together with others before, that he hasn’t. Um, that is to say, mostly he covers others’ retreats, or goes first. However, for this mission, this unworthy one cannot kill so many by himself without respite, that he can’t.”

“Huh.” Yasu-san’s brows climbed up near his hairline. “Well, that’s fair enough,” he agreed non-committedly, but then, his voice gained a slightly mocking quality, “So we will take over whenever you get tired, is that right? Do you have a signal for us, or whatever those fancy words meant?”

“O… er…” _Fancy words? I didn’t use any fancy words!_ Kenshin thought in growing befuddlement. “Ah, perhaps, this unworthy one will go first and when he slows down, your men will take over?”

“Slows down?”

“Er, that’s how this one fights – fast, that’s so,” Kenshin hedged. “Um, unfortunately, it’s difficult to keep it up for long, so that is why this unworthy one needs to take breaks, that he does.”

“What the hell are you telling me, son?” Yasu-san accused, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Kenshin tried not to let the aggressive glower get to him. Most people had never heard of ki. There was a good reason why he never spoke about his difficulties with other men. Even if they tried, they just wouldn’t understand. So he looked down at his hands and fiddled with the bandages. “It’s not important, that it isn’t.” He swallowed dryly. “When it happens – you will see the difference, that you will. The number of enemies is not an issue for this unworthy one; he can handle the odds, that he can. The problem is the length of the fight, so it is.”

“…Alright. I guess we will see your worth out there,” Yasu said, a clear challenge in his tone. His wide brows furrowed in thought and he glanced at Kenshin’s left hand. “What’s wrong with your hand, boy?”

“This unworthy one had to dislocate his thumb some weeks ago. It’s not an issue, that it isn’t.”

“Not an issue? The hell!” Yasu-san scoffed. “Can you even use a blade with that hand?”

Kenshin wasn’t sure why, but something in Yasu-san’s abrasive manner dug under his skin like burdock burrs, so he bit back, somewhat defensively, “It’s fine, that it is. If need be, this unworthy one can handle a blade with it. Would be better if not, but it’s not a problem, that it isn’t.”

"And what's with the "this unworthy one" and "that it is" crap? You trying to make yourself out to be one of those old-fashioned, rich clan brats, boy?"

"N-no…" Kenshin stammered, confused enough by the accusation that his eyes widened in shock and he leaned back instinctively.

“Well, son – I don’t know what those rich lords in the Capital think, but let me tell you one thing. Me and my men will go on this suicide mission and cover your back, but don’t think for a second that your fine name, fame, or fancy sword style is going to merit you any ass-kissing out here. We in the Kiheitai are soldiers. The caste you were born in, your wealth, fame, none of those things are important to us. Only actions matter. So, pretty boy – you will not get my men killed out there, is that clear?” Yasu-san spat the whole speech out angrily and turned to leave, only to shoot one more pointed glare over his shoulder.

On the sidelines, some men nearby snickered at Kenshin’s flummoxed expression. “Yasu’s going at it again… Oh man, look! Even the famous Battousai…”

Kenshin blinked slowly. What had that been about? Obviously, he had managed to anger Yasu-san, but… he hadn’t even done anything! Quite the opposite, actually! He had done his best to be polite and accepting! And yeah, he could understand the older man doubting his skills, but Yasu-san had all but accused him of expecting to have things handed to him like some rich clan brat. And what was the problem with how he spoke? His phrasings were a perfectly acceptable way of addressing oneself!

Before he could think things through, a Kiheitai messenger raced down the slope, waving his hands towards the bay like a madman. Whispers and mumbled shouts rose from the group on the beach as a black ship slid into view, slipping past the island overlooking the bay.

_….They are here._

Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat, terror flooding his veins.

Everyone in Japan had heard of the black ships. In his childhood, wandering in the countryside with Master, people had talked about them with fear-stained hatred, talking of them as if they were demons out of fairytales. They were impossible to defend against, capable of raining fire, iron, and destruction at the wave of a sneering foreigner's hand.

Objectively, Kenshin knew they were just tools of war, but somehow, at that moment, he understood far more than he had ever wanted why ordinary folk saw them as monsters. It was that bulky, powerful foreign shape, how fast and steadily they moved, uncaring of the currents or wind. It was almost magical. Eerie. Unnatural to the core. A mechanical marvel moving by the power of steam-powered engines, Katsura-san had explained to him once. Though what steam had to do with that eerie movement, he could not say.

More ships followed the first. How could something so large move so fast?

Even at a distance, Kenshin could tell that each of them was at least twice the size of the vessel that he and Katsura-san had sailed on from Osaka to Hagi. In all honesty, he had never seen anything so frightening. He swallowed dryly, trying to calm his racing heart.

 _…We need to go against_ those _?_

The thought made him feel light-headed, like he was in a waking nightmare.

_No!_

_Stop it!_

_Take a deep breath and focus!_ he told himself firmly. _It’s not about the ships, but the men controlling them. And men… you know men. You know exactly how fragile they are, how little it takes to kill them._

That helped, somewhat. At least, enough so that he could hear Yasu-san shouting, “Alright boys! Let’s get ready for this!” A mocking tone entered his voice, as he continued, “And remember, if they notice us coming – they’ll fire at us. So let’s make this nice and quiet, like ninja out of legend!”

The men clambered to their feet and shouldered their rifles.

Kenshin checked he had everything he needed: both of his swords, gauntlets, her shawl, and yes, his left hand was wrapped properly.

And then, people were getting on the boats. There were two rowboats prepared for them, which meant eight men per boat. Kenshin was hedging which one he should take as neither of the crews looked particularly inviting and the crafts themselves less so: the boats were small and rickety. Just a medium-sized wave and they would fall right over and this early in the summer, the sea water would be still cold.

 _Urgh…_ Kenshin wrinkled his nose in distaste. Thankfully, he knew how to swim.

However, before he could decide, Yasu-san was there, looming beside him, “One last thing, boys – don’t shoot until shit pours our way! We need to give our bright star here a chance to shine, don’t we?”

The comment raised guffaws from the men.

Kenshin would have stepped back just to avoid the spotlight he had been inevitably thrust into, but he was too busy gaping, his eyes wandering to Yasu’s arms, thick as tree trunks. Gods, the man could lift him with one hand and chuck him wherever he wanted!

“And you, son,” Yasu bared his teeth, “you’re coming with me.”

And that was that, no matter how much Kenshin wanted to shy away with an ‘eep.’

 

* * *

 

It surprised Kenshin how smoothly Katsura’s madcap plan worked; they took over the first two ships with minimal trouble. Obviously the Bakufu hadn’t expected the rebels would launch such a fast counter attack. Or, more accurately, they hadn’t thought anyone crazy enough to row next to them in darkness, climb on board and storm the deck, cutting the unsuspecting crew down before they could even raise an alarm.

Admittedly, no fight was exactly quiet – but when they made it on board, the first warships had already opened fire on the shore, making enough noise to drown out a little scuffle behind them.

With ki to speed him, Kenshin hadn’t had any trouble bringing the armed guards down in record time. He had kept Ito-san’s advice in mind and concentrated on efficiency, taking as many as three or four men with a single, lightning fast slash. It was far from his usual style, but served to emphasize Master’s claim that Hiten Mitsurugi was the absolute power in the land, created to pit one against many. Even fighting whole squads in Kyoto hadn’t been like this. In Kyoto’s narrow streets, he’d always had the option of running, forcing his targets to chase after him, then going at them one by one. Here, the enemy surrounded him and came from all directions, not waiting their turn, simply seeing an opportunity and taking it.

Battoujutsu wasn’t a good move for this sort of fighting, so he only used it when there was a sign of hesitation among his targets, a slightest of break that allowed him to flick away the excess blood from his blade and re-sheathe.

After he had dealt with the guards on the deck, he immediately let go of his internal ki-enhancement and let the Kiheitai men take care of the rest of the crew: the sailors, engineers, and gunners below deck.

Frankly, he was glad that he didn’t have to participate in the slaughter of the defenseless.

After only two fights, a familiar throbbing was forming between his eyes. Yes, a breather seemed reasonable at this point. He stood there, close to the railing, trying to keep breathing, in and out, deep but steady motions to slow his racing heart. Close to the shore, a third ship was sliding forward, about to join the first two bombarding the shoreline.

_Two down, three to go._

In one word: ouch.

Kenshin rubbed his brow idly, hoping to chase away the flickers of pain.

“I see now what you meant by speed,” a low, rumbling voice commented behind his back.

 _Huh?_ Kenshin froze, and turned to look over his shoulder. _Ah, Yasu-san._ But of course. None of the other Kiheitai men seemed willing to converse with him. He shook off his dazed thoughts, focusing on the present. “Are the gunners and sailors taken care of?”

He had hoped to have a bit more time, just to minimize his trouble with ki… but there really wasn’t any. Soon, the remaining ships would start to wonder why the two they had already taken care of weren’t joining in the bombardment, and worse, with every moment they spent here, people were getting hurt on the shore.

“Just about done, I wager. We should be ready to head to the third ship soon,” Yasu-san rumbled, before pausing to look at him, a strange expression taking over his weather-beaten, wrinkled face. “Say, son… how can you kill like that? That speed of yours, it’s almost godlike. When you go out there and kill, it’s not a fight – you _squash_ them. I mean, I’m a soldier. I have seen killing, damn ugly killing at that, but what you do…” He shook his head numbly.

Kenshin looked aside. It was true, what Yasu-san was saying, and he hated it. He had always hated it. It made him feel filthy, like he was stained with blood. No, worse than that, he was drenched in blood and guts throughout. He gritted his teeth – now was not the time for guilt and regrets.

He turned to Yasu-san. “This unworthy one-“

However, before he could say more, an explosion shook the ship, the unholy racket coming from somewhere _below_ deck. Kenshin grabbed the railing to keep his balance. _Shit! Shit, fucking shit!_ There was no chance in the eight great hells that the explosion had gone unnoticed by the Bakufu ships! And then the Kiheitai men stumbled on deck, scrambling like rats pouring from a tunnel, shouting over each other:

“Gunpowder!”

“The ship is sinking!”

“Fire!”

“Yasu, we need to go!”

Yasu-san stepped past him, tall and unmoving as a massive tree in the middle of a field. “What the hell happened?” he shouted. Beneath their feet the ship shook, the broken support beams groaning, and Yasu-san gritted his teeth. “No matter, we need to go! Let’s go! Let’s go, men! Three more ships to go!”

There was no time to argue. They all knew that the element of surprise was lost, and all they had left was speed. They were climbing down to the row boats when the first cannon fired on them.

It missed them by a few feet, hitting the sinking warship’s side, peppering them with shrapnel and splashing water. Oh, god – they were like sitting ducks out here! Shouts and screams echoed around him. But there was no other choice but to go forward. If they slowed down, they would only give the Bakufu’s warships a better chance to get their aim right. The men he was with were rowing for their lives, panting desperately, their eyes wild with panic.

The cannons kept firing on them.

One after another.

Whenever high-pitched whistling pierced the air, the only thing they could do was pray it wouldn’t hit them.

And the worst, the absolutely worst part was that there was nothing Kenshin could do to help. There was no room on the rower’s bench, no additional oar for him to use. He was the passenger. The one these men were tasked with helping. He could only watch and wait through the nerve-wracking heartbeats, wishing, hoping their luck would continue to hold.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to be.

The next boom echoed out from a distance, the cannonball’s howl piercing the air, and he could _see_ it coming. The world stopped; the mess of noises, shouts, and blood rushing in his veins deafened him, the flickers of ki around him blending into a mess of fear and panic, and Kenshin realized there was no avoiding death.

The cannonball struck, crushing through the rickety rowboat to the left of them, the iron ball bursting through flesh and wood with unstoppable force. People, pieces of them, blood, splinters of wood, and foamy water splashed, knocked back from the force of the explosion and forming a wave that nearly tipped over Kenshin's boat as well.

_Oh, gods…_

Eight Kiheitai men, half their group – their comrades, they were dead, just like that?

“Keep rowing, you sons of bitches!” Yasu howled. “Keep rowing, goddammit!”

 _They just… they are dead. Just like that._ Kenshin gaped, unable to do anything but stare at the foamy spot, marked by pieces of wood in the water. _A single shot, and they, they… Oh, gods._

“Himura! Wake up, son! You need to clear the way! Go, go!”

Kenshin blinked dazedly, turning to look upwards, only to see Yasu looming over him, holding him by the shoulders and shaking him. The soldier’s face was red with anger and he was yelling, his spit spewing everywhere. Yet Kenshin couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t make out the words – couldn’t focus enough.

Then, all of a sudden pain bloomed in his left cheek, echoing down to his jaw, and Kenshin gasped, the world aligning again. Fucking hell, the bastard had slapped him! He jumped to his feet, snarling, “You fucker!”

“Can it, son, and move!” Yasu growled, grabbing him by the neck of his kimono and hauling him forward, pointing him towards the deck. “They are on to us!”

The warship was just in front of them and the Kihetai men were slinging ropes to board the ship. The Bakufu’s men were on the railing, shooting at them or cutting through their ropes.

They were fucked if they didn’t move now!

Another rope was thrown and Kenshin focused his ki, felt the coldness spread through him, and dashed forward, running on the rope and then climbing on it like a squirrel. The Bakufu samurai nearest him didn’t manage to cut it, not before he was dead, his head separated from his body with one clean quick draw. Another man charged. Too slow, he too fell from a single strike and then Kenshin was on them, slashing his way through, clearing the way and defending the railing. The throbbing behind his eyes was growing, becoming deeper, more urgent with each passing second. His muscles were starting to burn, his breath came faster, but it didn’t matter. Kenshin gritted his teeth and _killed_.

_Clean strikes, one, two, and three; feel your opponent’s moment of hesitation – use it to shake off the blood and re-sheathe._

_Quick draw, and again._

He was a whirlwind of death and destruction, cutting through anyone who came at him, killing and killing. He couldn't even tell how many lay dead at his feet; body parts, blood, and entrails covered the deck and made it slippery, but then there was no one else coming at him. The throbbing behind his eyes had turned into a terrible ache and finally, he let go of his ki. His knees wobbled under him, his stomach lurching with nausea, but he stayed on his feet through sheer force of will.

Behind him, the six remaining Kiheitai men and Yasu were shouting something, holding out their rifles – no, shooting over the railing?

_But why would they…_

_Oh._

The fourth ship was gliding towards them.

…But this ship wasn’t taken yet! There were still men below deck, and the cannons weren’t disarmed, and–

“Himura! Move it!” Yasu shouted. “We will take over the helm, but you need to take care of the men below deck!”

Kenshin swallowed dryly, trying to force down his panic – then, he ran.

It was dark below deck, the oil lamp light a stark change from the darkness of dusk. He felt like he was submerged in another world, the chaos above deck morphing into something unrecognizable, the odd, almost suffocating smell of smoke, fire, gunpowder, and sweat taking over his senses. The humid warmth around him swallowed him, disgusting and overpowering.

A scream rang out close by and then, he was not alone on the staircase.

A sailor charged at him, trying to drive a knife into his gut. He saw it coming. He did. But his headache was spiking, nausea brought on by pain, exhaustion, and the horrible smells was making him feel wobbly… Gods, how was he supposed to use ki like this?

Simple: he couldn’t. There was no way.

At the last possible moment, Kenshin grunted and twisted sideways, dodging the strike by the skin of his teeth, and stepped behind the sailor, slashing his throat open from behind. The man fell to his knees, trying to cradle his gaping throat in vain, blood gushing out in torrents, painting his chest red.

Kenshin stepped past him, flicked the excess blood from his sword, and sheathed it.

A group of presences was nearing him, a blurred mess that amounted to three or four men, he wagered. The corridor was narrow, and worse, the ceiling was so low that he didn’t have any room to jump or maneuver in the air. His katana would be next to useless in conditions like these. He dashed forward past the hallway into the wider space where gunners and sailors had been preparing their defense, drew out his wakizashi and attacked.

There was no time to think, no time for regrets or guilt. He danced on instinct and carefully honed reflexes, letting his training and experience take over. He was slower, weaker than he was used to. But these men, they weren’t any better than him; they were specialists, sailors and gunmen, cooks and galley boys, men, and youths who knew little of swordfights. Once upon a time he would have abhorred the thought of killing them, but in this one endless moment, there was nothing but _us_ versus _them_ – the knowledge that if he showed mercy, he would die. So he used his agility to his advantage in the limited space, reading their projected attacks and dancing around them, jumping, rolling, twisting, and somersaulting away from their daggers and blades of variant lengths and even a few bullets fired from handguns.

One by one, the flickers around him died out, the wall of enemies dwindling down to few terrified men standing on a floor riddled with corpses.

Kenshin was sweating like a pig, desperately panting for breath, trying to gauge which of his targets would attack next… when a terrible crash hit the ship, swaying the hull worse than any earthquake. As luck would have it, he was close enough to a wall to lean against it, and he stayed on his feet through the tremors. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the remainder of his targets, and when the worst was over, he was on them, ending their struggle with a cruel efficiency: a single stab to the heart or throat.

He wasn’t exactly sure what had struck them, but he had a good guess. And if he was right, the Kiheitai men couldn’t handle them on their own...

He exhaled softly, focusing on the swarm of ki presences flooding the deck.

_…For fuck’s sake._

He ran.

The fresh sea air burned in his lungs, but he gulped it regardless, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of a couple dozen guardsmen attacking the Kiheitai men, surrounding them with six to one odds. Yasu and his men had no chance, not without him. Kenshin didn't even hesitate before digging deep into the flow of ki inside him, gathering and pushing it down his limbs. The pain flared, just like a warning sign from hell. He didn't care. This wasn't going to kill him. It was just pain and he knew pain, he thought with reckless abandon, chanting in his head: _you can do this – if you focus enough, you can ignore anything, pain, nausea, the color show in your eyes, can't you?_

And then the world slowed to a halt and he was dancing among the enemy.

_Strike, dodge, look for the path, get between them, and cut through all three!_

_Good!_

_Feel the flicker behind you, turn around and parry, slice his belly open. Ignore the slippery mess. Let his friends be enraged by his pain and attack you at once, then you can get them at the same time!_

_Don’t think! Flick your wrist, sheathe your blade, and draw again!_

_Yes, just like that – let your strikes flow._

_One, two, three, and four._

_Don’t mind the pain, it’s your friend. It shows that you are alive and as long as you live, you can fight._

_Notice how he charges at you, yes – good, just like that. Slide under his attack, grab your wakizashi with your left hand and stab him through the underside of his jaw._

_Don’t mind how your hands shake, how your muscles burn. It just shows that you are alive._

_Just keep breathing…_

_And kill._

Then there was no one bearing Bakufu colors left. He let go of his ki, feeling nothing but the painstaking numbness of hanging on by a thread, fighting for survival. His legs felt like they were made out of sticky rice and he wobbled forward, not sure why staying upright seemed so very difficult. Yet, he couldn't stop now. There were still remaining enemies on the fourth ship's deck, the one that had collided with them, and even if the Bakufu men were hurrying to retreat, they were still a threat. If they got some distance, how easy would it be for them to open fire and sink the ship Kenshin and Yasu's team had struggled to overtake?

No, for them to survive, the remaining ships had to be taken care of. The guys on the shore, fighting against the Bakufu’s main force, depended on the success of this mission.

Kenshin ran.

A bunch of boarding hooks and ropes that the Bakufu had slung to board them were still tying the two ships together. One of them in particular grabbed his attention: a rope, hanging from the fourth ship’s mast, the free end hanging loosely between the ships. He didn't think twice before jumping towards it, his sword at the ready – but when he grabbed the rope with his left hand, he realized his mistake a second too late.

Momentum and gravity worked in his favor as he swung forward, but the rope kept slipping through his grip, tearing at the skin of his palm, his weight too much for his injured hand to hold. By some miracle, he managed to cross the gap, but the enemy was there, firing on him and the enticing target he provided. The shots echoed all around him and suddenly, it felt like someone kicked him in the stomach, pushing out all the air from his lungs.

He gasped breathlessly, gripping the rope even harder by instinct, trying to land in a good spot – but it was too much; his thumb popped out of its joint. For fuck’s sake! His fall was anything but smooth, but he was right where he intended to be and that was all that mattered. Drawing on his ki, he fought past the terrible burning pain that flared in every inch of his body, narrowed his eyes to look past double vision mirages, and climbed to his feet. He felt the flickers of ki around him, saw the blurry figures and knew he _had to_ kill them. There was no other way.

He charged towards them, slashing through them like a drunken rice farmer swinging a scythe. There was no time for elaborate kata, for fancy acrobatics – no, all he had was the speed and strength that ki-enhancement brought him and his pig-headed stubbornness not to give up.

Then there was only one last man standing, cradling his rifle in his arms like a talisman to ward off evil. “Demon,” he gasped, staring in utter horror at Kenshin’s mid-drift. “You’re a demon. No man could…”

Kenshin grimaced, a sick parody of a grin. What else could he do? It was what he was, and he had no choice but to kill them all. He cut the man in half, rifle and all, before throwing his head back and laughing breathlessly. Oh gods, the pain! The burn! Was this what the fires of the eight great hells felt like?

...But what was the wetness running down his thighs and stomach? Surely there was no water in hell?

His irreverent thoughts were interrupted by a feeling like nothing else, a deep, piercing stab radiating everywhere from a tiny spot on the left side of his stomach. He pressed his right hand there in dazed wonder, feeling it become slick with blood… and then, his legs gave out under him and he saw nothing but darkness.

 

* * *

 

He woke to a terrible ache, feeling like he had died and been slung out of hell after the demons had chewed on him for a while. Gods, he hurt. There were two ki presences near him, engaged in a low-voiced conversation. They didn’t feel exactly familiar, but neither did they feel threatening – and case in point, he was still alive.

Or, at least, he thought this was still the living world.

“They are backed into a corner now,” the first voice remarked. Pleasant tone, if quite unremarkable, could belong to any guy in his twenties. “Problem is; they have barricaded themselves down there. They have enough gunpowder to blow up half the ship if they get desperate, but they want that outcome as little as we do, so I’d wager we can keep them busy for hours.”

“And by then, we can get reinforcements,” a low, rumbling voice finished for him. “Well done, Yu.”

"Eh, don't thank me. It can still go badly – not to mention, I don't like how the battle is turning out on the beach," the younger man, Yu, remarked, before continuing in a quieter tone. "I feel bad about the boy, though. Hard to believe he became the Battousai. You know, last I saw him, he was a real cute kid."

“…What are you talking about?”

“It was before your time, all the way back when Takasugi was just founding the troop. About three years ago? I was recruited then, but that boy was there, too, and he was already brilliant with a blade,” the younger voice explained. “So, how is he, really? Do you think he’ll make it?”

There was a low groan, heavy footsteps creaking on the deck, and then someone slapped him on the cheek. Kenshin whimpered but managed to open his eyes in slits, just enough that the large shape before him cleared into the unrepentant form of Yasu.

“Ha! Well, this is a surprise – the boy’s still alive.” Yasu let out a breathy chuckle, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. “Can’t say for how long that’s gonna be, though. That’s a bleeder right there in his gut. I packed it good and wrapped it, but it needs stitches desperately. Thank god he had that silly scarf with him.” Yasu snorted. “I swear, at first I mistook him for a shy girl hiding her face behind it, but it sure worked as an emergency bandage.”

Kenshin took in a deep, ragged breath, trying to get the world back in order. The conversation above him didn't matter; he just needed to fight past the burning pain, the disorientating headache, the color show in his vision.

“I see,” the younger man said. “How’s your leg?”

Yasu guffawed. “Oh, it’s just peachy. Ain’t good for much, but it won’t kill me either. Say, Yu… are my eyes deceiving me, or is that last black ship moving?”

“Hmm, I think so,” Yu murmured. “I’d say it’s heading for the first ship we dealt with.”

“Fuck.” Yasu summed up all their thoughts. “If they can rearm those cannons, they’ll have two fully operational warships right there. Yamagata’s reinforcements haven’t boarded it yet; no doubt they are all tied up defending the shore. That whole beach is in chaos, there’s no telling if we are winning or losing… but I’d hate for the Bakufu to turn the tables now with another set of cannons.”

Yu hummed softly. “I wouldn’t worry about them getting the first ship back in working order any time soon. Me and my boys spread their gunpowder all over the lower deck, smashed any delicate parts we could find, and I took personal responsibility for wrecking their steering.”

"Yu…" Yasu said slowly. "Have I ever told you I love you and your dastardly ways? A former monk or not, you have an evil streak a mile wide."

“I do, eh?” the younger man huffed. “I might have heard that once or twice.”

Kenshin coughed and pressed his hand against his bandaged mid-drift, and hoping that pressure would ease the pain, he struggled to sit up. “The last ship?” he rasped, looking up at Yasu and his companion.

Yasu laid a massive hand on his shoulder, looking at him with the strangest expression. “It’s a lost cause, son,” he said gently. “We did good, but we can’t finish the job.”

The words stung.

They had come this far, and yet they could still fail? The last ship was still fully operational, it could just as easily come for them directly and take over this ship, and then what? They would just roll over and die? No, there had to be something they could still do. Something. Anything. Kenshin took a deep breath and grunted, sitting up, leaning his back against the railing and ever so slowly, gathered his legs underneath him. He felt weak as a newborn, but somehow, he managed to stand and turn against the railing, to see for himself.

The last warship was gliding slowly towards the one they had stopped near the island, overlooking Oshima bay.

A threat.

With the last ship still in the game, Yamagata couldn't send reinforcement to take over the ships they had worked so hard to neutralize. Worse, that warship was still fully operational, capable of causing terrifying damage to the ground forces on the beach. Their cannons were far superior to the field guns the Kiheitai had set on the hills…

Kenshin gripped the railing, racking his mind frantically. There had to be something they could do, but what?

How could they disable the last warship’s cannons? Even if he could magically transport himself to the ship, he had no chance of killing the crew, not like this... but wait, what had that Yu said about steering? Kenshin frowned, thinking; a ship was still a vehicle, obviously it had to be controlled from somewhere.

“Yasu-san,” he began, “is it necessary to overtake the last ship? Could we direct it to hills, to our field guns?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. “Son… what are you talking about?”

Kenshin leaned his weight against the railing and turned to look at the two soldiers. “Finishing the job,” he said simply, his determination shining through. Katsura-san had given him this one task, trusted it to him. He couldn’t fail, not when so much relied on them neutralizing the Bakufu’s new warships. No, for him – failure wasn’t an option.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, clenching his hands tightly. His useless left hand flared with pain, his loosely lurching, swollen left thumb throbbing miserably.

Even if he knew how, rowing like this would be impossible. Could he jump into the water and swim there? He snorted bitterly, trailing his left hand back to his bandaged stomach. Even if his wound was packed and wrapped tightly to stifle the bleeding, he remembered the last time he had taken a swim while injured. He had nearly bled to death before he’d noticed anything was wrong.

Yet, what did it matter?

His pain, his guilt, and shame at being useless, even the impossible odds they had been handed, what did those matter? Not a damn thing, because… "Choshuu is fighting against impossible odds. Not just us, but everyone we know. We were given this one task, a key to victory," he hissed, low and angry. "We _can’t_ give up now.”

If they didn’t get this done, Choshuu’s chances to defend against the Bakufu’s main force would be even worse. No, as long as there was still breath left in him, he couldn’t give up. This war was where his dreams for the new era would soar, or be crushed. If they won here, the revolution could happen. All the lives he had taken wouldn’t be for nothing…

_I have already failed so many times. I can’t fail again. I can’t._

A low, hacking – disbelieving? – laugh tore him from his thoughts. “Son, you really think you can do it? If you get there, can you do it?” Yasu asked.

Kenshin met those dark, skeptical, and angry eyes that had seen so much and still had the capability to mock anyone, no matter their fame or status, and inclined his head.

“Yu, can you hold the enemy pinned down below and keep this ship under your control?”

“Yes,” the younger soldier nodded.

Then Yasu turned to Kenshin and his mouth widened into a smile, not a nice one – a chilling, eerie smile that promised pain and death. “Son, I may not be of much use like this.” He motioned to his injured leg. “Hell, I think you are a crazy piece of shit for even wanting to try. It’s suicide, plain and simple, and practical men like me know there is nothing heroic in death. But you are right – that damn ship is a threat. So the least I can do is row you there.”

A million things racing through his mind, Kenshin stared, but in the end, there was only one answer to an offer like that – he nodded, sealing their agreement.

They didn’t have time to waste; dawn was coming fast and with the rising sun, their chances of getting to the last ship would plummet to hell. The warship had anchored near the first ship they had taken, far out of the reach of Choshuu’s field cannons. They seemed to be busy, boats going between the ships, both decks bustling with crew members scurrying back and forth. Given their inattention, there was a good chance they wouldn’t notice anyone approaching them from the open sea.

With his busted leg, Yasu had trouble climbing down to the rowboat they had left tied to the fourth warship’s side.

Not that Kenshin had it much easier – his left hand was next to useless, and each and every movement send a wave of throbbing pain from his abdomen. He was acutely aware how _her_ pale blue scarf was getting more and more soaked with his blood.

The first thing he did as he got to the boat was to sit down and try moving his swollen thumb. It kept aching in the most annoying manner. Ah, of course – the joint was badly aligned. He held his breath and pulled. The joint lurched, dropping back into the socket. Yes, that was better. Strange, how easy such a thing was to do now. It didn’t even hurt that badly, not compared to the rest of his pains.

Judging by the look Yasu gave him, the older man thought he was out of his mind.

Maybe he was.

 _It would certainly explain some things_. Kenshin sighed softly and leaned backwards, taking advantage of the moment of peace to redo the wrappings around his left hand. He had a bad feeling that his thumb would never heal quite right, but at this point, he just needed to do his best to get the joint up to handling some stress. At least enough to handle climbing…

Yasu rowed forward at a steady pace, his massive arms bulging with each pull on the oars. There was no hesitation, no fumbling in his movements. Right here and now, he looked like the lord of his domain, calmly going on a stroll.

It was remarkable.

How could a mere farmer be so at peace with himself, with his decisions? Was there no fear in the man?

The warship loomed ahead of them like a quiet mountain. Quiet and insignificant as a pair of mice, they approached it from behind. Kenshin tried his best to feel out the presences on the deck, but his ki was acting strange, edgy. It was difficult to sort out the mess of untrained flickers, especially when they felt so hurried and stressed. Adding to the general air of confusion was the fact that the ship hadn’t anchored yet, but the engines weren’t on either.

Kenshin signaled Yasu to pull up near the back, close to the engine ports.

The older man cocked his brow, but didn't comment – he merely threw the rope over the railing. It landed with a loud enough clatter that Kenshin swore his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He held up his finger to his lips, struggling to mask his ki as well as he could into something that resembled the blurry presences of the crew, but no one came to check the noise.

 _Alright._ He exhaled slowly and began to climb. It was hard work, made much more difficult by his injuries and general exhaustion. Worse, he couldn’t afford to make noise – surprise was the only advantage he had at this point. If he lost it, he would be dead, and so would the man who had helped him get here. So he kept pausing, gritting his teeth and hissing whenever his wounds smarted.

Finally, he was over the railing, near the massive exhaust ports for the steam engines. Just across him, men were gathered to watch the battle onshore – their attention riveted by the spectacle and the cannon roars echoing on the horizon. Kenshin withdrew from sight, noting their agitated pacing and their hushed, low-key arguments.

If there was one mixed blessing, it was that they didn’t seem to know how the battle was going any better than he did. So, Choshuu was holding its own – at least enough to keep the Bakufu guessing, too.

Kenshin swallowed, then sneaked forward, sticking to the shadows.

Every now and then he paused, waiting for the crewmembers or guards to pass him by, but as he was trying to sort out the situation, his attention kept being drawn to a cluster of presences, flickering temperamentally – inside the cabins? Could that be where this beast of a ship was steered from? Following the suspicion, Kenshin noted the people nearby and when they weren’t looking his way, slipped around the corner and into the hallway. The nook was out of the direct line of sight from the deck, giving him cover as he stopped to listen by the door.

“We must continue to bombard the shore! Our artillery can still bolster our armies in the battle!”

“Are you insane, General? The rebel dogs have already attacked four of our ships! We must immediately set out to assist them!”

“You are both right – but for now, our priority is to rearm Kanrin Maru’s cannons. With two ships, one can act as a sentry against rebel ambushes, while the other attacks.”

“But Katsu-san… the damage the rebels did to the Kanrin Maru, can we even repair it on such short notice?” the second voice questioned, disgruntled.

It seemed that Kenshin had found exactly what he was looking for, but he couldn't help but feel slightly taken aback. What did it mean, if even the commanders of this weapon of war were confused by the situation?

 _No, don’t stop to think about useless things_ , he told himself firmly, and took a deep breath, reaching for his ki – only to pause midway. Being this close to his limit, could he risk it? The answer was obvious. For now, it was better to save the internal enhancement trick for when he had no other choice left. Besides, there were only three men inside. He could handle three. Or so he hoped. Steeling his nerve, he took hold of the strange knob on the door and slowly tested its range of motion: pulling didn’t budge it, but twisting did – so strange, these Western inventions. The door opened and he ghosted inside, trailing his good hand on his sword, readying himself to draw. The commanders were in such a deep argument that they hadn’t noticed him yet.

Three men, each of them wearing uniforms with varying amounts of fancy decorations that no doubt held some meaning to them. A tall youth stood right across him, facing away from him. A sour looking older man was on his left – the same one who had argued about continuing the bombardment? And on the right, a short man who both of the others seemed defer to regardless of his modest, efficient garb.

For this ploy to work, Kenshin only needed one man with authority. The other two would be an unnecessary complication.

Given the narrow space, his katana would be too cumbersome a choice – so he took hold of his wakizashi, soundlessly slid it out of its sheath, and quick as lightning stabbed the tall youth in the back. The other two shouted in alarm, but Kenshin was already on the move, pulling his blade free and stepping around the dying man to attack the older general. The man tried to punch him, a feeble, desperate strike that was easy enough to predict and Kenshin sidestepped it, cutting the man’s throat with single, efficient slash.

And then, there was only one.

The short man, the one the other two had deferred to.

Kenshin stalked closer, pointing his blade at the man, and said softly, "This unworthy one doesn't wish to kill you – but he will, if you don't give in."

“So I see,” The man said softly, meeting his eyes fearlessly. He held out his hands in surrender, but his gaze was remarkably shrewd, even calculating. “What is it that you want from me, then?”

“To direct this ship towards the shore.”

In silence, they stared at each other: a commander of one of the Bakufu’s brand new Western warships and a beaten and exhausted rebel assassin. Kenshin couldn’t tell how long the tense moment lasted, seconds or minutes. He couldn’t even tell if the captain realized how desperate a gamble this truly was for him, but then – the man dipped his chin and said, “I will do as you say, but only if my men can leave the ship.”

“When we get moving, your men can leave whenever they want; to retreat or to join the main army if they so wish,” Kenshin countered easily, a tight knot at the pit of his stomach uncoiling in private relief.

However, before he could continue, an uncontrolled and agitated presence neared them, a remarkably familiar presence at that. Kenshin paused in disbelief, unable to believe his senses, but then the door burst open and Yasu stumbled in, limping heavily as he dragged along a Bakufu man in a chokehold. His massive arms bulged, his captive ceasing his struggling as his face turned red from lack of air. With an ugly grunt, Yasu dropped the man to the floor like a rag doll and stepped over his prone body.

“What the hell are you waiting for, Himura?” he growled. “I’ll hold them off, just get us moving!”

Kenshin couldn’t do anything but gape at him for a moment, completely speechless. The last thing he had expected was for Yasu to follow him! But somehow, he didn’t know how, he managed to shake off his surprise and direct his attention back to _his_ captive.

The Bakufu commander sighed. “Don’t you have any idea what it takes to get a warship of this size moving? No, of course not, that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it?” he grumbled. “You know, I can’t do what you ask by just pushing a button or twisting a knob. At the very least, I need to give commands to the engine room.”

“Then why aren’t you doing so already?” Yasu bit off.

But Kenshin held up his arm at Yasu, looking pointedly at the captain. “Is this ship worth your life? Worth your men’s lives?” he asked, his voice soft as a whisper and twice as cutting for it. “If I have to, I’ll kill every single one of you to neutralize the threat this ship poses for us.”

The captain paused, his eyes widening slightly. “You really would, wouldn’t you?”

"Yes," Kenshin said, dead serious.

His hands shaking slightly, the captain took hold of an odd device, a metallic cone, and shot off a row of commands in an incomprehensible language into it. Kenshin had no idea what was said, but there was something in the Bakufu captain’s manner that told him the man was worth his word, at least to a point.

The ship started moving and if he wasn’t entirely mistaken, the direction was about right.

He nodded at the captain, motioning with his sword for the man to step aside. Yasu limped to the control table and using his rifle butt, started to wreck havoc on the delicate instruments on it. With each strike, each clang and spark, the Bakufu captain flinched, as if it physically pained him to see a lumbering giant violate his fancy ship, yet he didn’t otherwise protest or even let his face betray him, even if his ki was flaring in helpless fury.

It was almost admirable, yet Kenshin couldn’t afford to pity the man.

He was starting to feel increasingly light-headed, slight tremors running through his body. The loud noises of Yasu’s wanton destruction were making his headache worse. Quite honestly, he couldn’t say if he had ever felt quite as sick as at this moment. Something wet was trailing down his stomach, towards his inner thigh. He was quite sure it was blood. Had the scarf binding the bullet wound in his stomach loosened, or had it just soaked through? At this point, the only thing keeping him standing was the knowledge that this ploy would only work as long as he could look threatening.

With all the control table’s instruments destroyed, they had no way of telling where they were going. Had the captain pulled one final heist, ordering them to head for the sea instead of the shore?  

The silence was nerve-wracking.

At a distance, the crew members’ ki presences were becoming more and more stressed, almost panicked… and then, someone was beating on the cabin door, howling, “Commander! Generals! What is happening in there? Where are we going? What is our task?”

The Bakufu captain glanced at Kenshin expectantly, but Kenshin shook his head and made a cutting motion to his throat. The message was clear: shout and die.

The captain paled.

“Commander!” The man at the door shouted again, even more distressed. “Answer us!”

But then another voice cursed, “Shit! Is that blood?”

“Oh fuck, it is!”

"Help! Someone has taken over the commander's cabin!" they screamed, and began to slam the door with all their strength, trying to push it open.

Yasu rushed to hold them off, leaning all his bodyweight against it to keep it from coming off its hinges. The cannon fire from the beach was becoming louder, more pronounced, but even that was a vain comfort against the growing feeling of entrapment. Yasu grunted desperately, snarling at him, “Fuck it all to hell! You’ve killed us both with this stunt, son!”

A terrible crash echoed around them, the ship shaking miserably as it took a direct hit – enough to shake off Yasu’s bodily barricade, causing him to stumble and fall. Faster than Kenshin could register what had happened, all hell broke loose as the door burst open and Bakufu soldiers stormed inside. There was no thought involved, merely desperation and instinct as Kenshin dipped into his waning ki and attacked, slashing into the wall of bodies pushing inside. Blood splayed, howls filled the air, and there was nothing but chaos, far too many things going on at the same time for him to see or understand them.

The only thing in his mind was the need to cut through the enemy, carve a pathway out of the hellhole that the captain’s cabin had turned into. In this narrow space, in the bloodiest battlefield he had ever been, even his wakizashi felt too long, too awkward to handle, and by god, never before had he felt so grateful to be small and agile.

The ship shook and groaned, the wood and metal singing a song of destruction around them as the hits kept coming, one cannon blast after another. Somehow, he didn’t know how, Kenshin managed to make it outside, onto the deck that had descended into pure, unrivaled chaos: left and right, men were scurrying in panic, screaming and jumping over the railing and into the sea.

Leaning against the corridor wall, Kenshin couldn’t do anything but gulp for air. His ki fiddled, the pain between his eyes spiked – and his knees buckled out from under him. He knew he should hurry. If he could just climb back to his feet and jump over the railing, he had a chance of escaping. The shore was near enough that even in this state; he should be able to swim to shore…

But his feet refused to obey him.

So this was his limit?

_This is how it ends?_

He huffed softly, a wheezy, breathless laughter.

The shore neared at rapid speed; the field cannons in the hills shot at a rapid pace, one after another… and then, there was a terrible crash, the world tilted sideways, and he saw nothing more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: But sadly, there's a cliffhanger. Because I'm evil like that. ^^*
> 
> Betaed by Animaniacal in 03.09.2016.


	7. Good and Bad come in pairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst, politics, and minor character death

# Chapter 36. Good and Bad come in pairs

 

“One more thing,” Katsura said, keeping his expression carefully neutral, not letting his honest puzzlement show. “Why did you decide to order the retreat?”

The Bakufu commander sitting across from him sighed, then leaned back and looked away. “From the start this war was a foolish gambit that weakens us in the eyes of Western powers when we desperately need to appear strong. I know it, you know it – most of my men and fellow commanders know it.”

“True-” Katsura allowed.

The Bakufu commander lifted his hand to request silence and continued, “We joined this war out of loyalty. Despite our warnings, the shogun required it of us – so we fought. But for you, it’s different. I understand that now. You see, when that man of yours, that Hitokiri Battousai, held me at sword point and looked at me, I realized we had already lost. His eyes, they were so sincere. I have never witnessed anything as terrifying as that moment. An insane madman I could have led astray, tricked somehow or struggled against… but a killer who sincerely doesn’t wish to kill, but will do so in the blink of an eye if he needs to?”

The Bakufu commander shook his head. “No matter my actions, he would have fought to the very last. He would have killed me, destroyed my ship’s steering, gone to the deck and slaughtered my men until he fell… that sort of conviction is hard to fight against.” He sighed in half-wonder, half-admiration. “Our army came here poorly outfitted, poorly organized, hoping to intimidate you and snatch an easy victory. Instead, we faced men who are willing to do whatever it takes to win. And since our enemy was like this, there truly was no other reasonable action for us to take than to retreat and rethink the whole campaign.”

Katsura bowed his head, acknowledging the truth in those words. “So, we have a ceasefire?”

“Yes,” the Bakufu commander said firmly. “Our army will retreat to Hiroshima, where we will join with Honjo Masahide’s troops. The final truce can only happen on the Lord Shogun’s orders, but I give you my word that my men will not attack you again and that I’ll do my best to convince Commander Honjo to enter negotiations for an armistice as well.”

“Very good,” Katsura said gravely, “then we are in agreement.”

The Bakufu commander, the expert negotiator Katsu Kaishu, bowed deeply and rose to leave. At the door of the field tent, he stopped briefly to glance over his shoulder and said simply, “Well played, Kido-san.”

Watching him walk away, Katsura exhaled in relief, allowing himself to relax for just a moment. Somehow, they had made it. They had truly made it. And ironically, the act that had broken the paper tiger’s back… had been in the hands, or rather mercy, of his killer.

Katsura scoffed.

It was almost amusing how such a small thing could change so much, he mused, making his way back to the Kiheitai encampment. The commander that Kenshin had spared on the Bakufu’s flagship had been the most opposed to the war in the first place – and after having witnessing true resolution, he had taken over and ordered the retreat of the Bakufu troops who had fought on the beach, and now wanted to help the negotiations for a truce. Somehow, with that one single act, Kenshin had saved far more lives than he could ever imagine.

True, the war was far from over.

The Bakufu still had large armies surrounding Choshuu on three other fronts, but Takasugi had enjoyed great success in taking back the southeastern islands from the Bakufu’s occupation. The army that loomed in Hiroshima and the naval arsenal the Bakufu was organizing in Hikone both seemed particularly unwilling to extend their resources other than as a show of force. That left only the danger coming from the southern straits of Kyushu. Yamagata and his Kiheitai were already packing up, moving to defend Shimonoseki and meet with Takasugi’s men there. Against all expectations, Choshuu was holding their own and not giving an inch.

It just served to show how much Shogun Iemochi had relied on his bluff, hoping that by gathering a large enough army, he could suppress the populist agenda that he could no longer ignore. In this war, the Bakufu had given its all, shown all the tricks up its sleeve… but when those prized warships had been taken over, their land forces crushed by the Kiheitai’s better armaments and unwavering determination, even the Bakufu’s best-prepared armies had turned tail and fled.

Oh, yes. Today, it was good to be a rebel.

If Choshuu could keep this up, the summer would show everyone that the rebellion wasn’t just a bunch of radically minded youths stirring trouble for the sake of a fleeting dream, but a reality the country needed to confront. In order for Japan to become strong, they all needed to unite – something the Bakufu couldn’t command, not anymore. They needed new thinking and unified leadership to bring them into a new era.

The Kiheitai’s command tent loomed ahead, where hurried men rushed back and forth, gathering supplies and packing up. They were set to leave for Shimonoseki tonight. Only the wounded would be left behind, under the care of a few doctors and samurai women volunteering as nurses. Unsurprisingly, Katsura’s thoughts turned sour, worry twisting his gut. One of the Kiheitai men had carried Kenshin back through the battle on the beach, unconscious and half-dead from a gunshot wound to his left abdomen. Thankfully, the bullet hadn’t lodged there nor pierced vital organs. As it was, through sheer luck, the army surgeon had managed to stop the bleeding in time.

It had been five days since then, and no one knew whether or not the boy would make it; Kenshin had lost a terrifying amount of blood. Worse, the doctors still feared he may have blood poisoning from dirt and impurities that could have gone into the wound. If that had happened, there was nothing to be done but to end the boy’s suffering.

_No! No, you can’t think like that._

_He has a chance. A fighting chance, we just need to give him time._

Katsura took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a headache from exhaustion.

It had been a truly difficult week, for all of them.

In total, the Kiheitai had lost over one hundred and fifty men in the battle. Of Choshuu samurai, they had lost a hundred. The number of wounded was much higher, which took a lot of resources. The Bakufu’s casualties were still unknown, but their numbers had to be in the several hundreds dead and many more wounded.

When it came to the Kiheitai men who had accompanied Kenshin on the mission, out of fifteen excellent soldiers, only six had returned, most of them wounded. For example, the man who had saved Kenshin’s life, a lauded officer with a good career ahead of him, had been injured badly enough that he had to be discharged.

A sad affair, really.  

However, without that man’s courage, Kenshin would have been left to die and that had been enough of a reason for Katsura to step in and provide some compensation for the man, just to show his gratitude.

A loud, carrying voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Kido-san! You are checking on Himura?”

It was Yamagata-san.

Katsura inclined his head, “Ah, yes. I was going that way.”

“I’ll join you,” declared the vice-commander, now the acting commander of the Kiheitai, and settled to walk beside him.

After Takasugi had departed, Yamagata Kyusuke had shown remarkable leadership capability. Without losing his calm, he had faced the Bakufu’s overwhelming odds on the beach and led their troops to a decisive victory. There were good, logical reasons why he would inherit the command of the Kiheitai from Takasugi when the time came… and yet, Katsura couldn’t help but wish things were different.

“How long do you think Takasugi can keep commanding the Kiheitai? Your honest opinion, please,” Katsura asked softly.

“I doubt anything could keep him away from this war, but he won’t make it past the winter. The sickness has spread too far. We have known it for a long time.” Yamagata frowned. He sighed, and added, “The Kiheitai will fall to my responsibility when he goes.”

“I don’t know a better man to continue Takasugi’s work, Yamagata-san. The battle on the beach was your victory,” Katsura complimented. He wasn’t particularly awed by Yamagata, but until he got a better sense of the man, it was best to play it safe.

After all, words of praise didn’t cost him anything, but could grant him much. Especially given how Yamagata seemed to be somewhat at odds with him. Katsura had noticed it on the night of the war council in Hagi, and many times since then – small acts of opposition or protest where he hadn’t expected to encounter any. Of course he realized he couldn’t transfer the implicit trust he shared with Takasugi to Yamagata, but this slight friction between them was… unsettling. He needed Yamagata’s trust and cooperation going forward and to gain that, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t give.

“The Kiheitai won only a part of the battle,” Yamagata denied. “The real victory goes to Battousai and the men who accompanied him to the warships.” He turned his gaze towards the healing ward. “Yasu reported to me how the mission went down. I’m sorry I doubted you, Kido-san. Your man Himura is a true hero.”

“Kenshin couldn’t have done it alone,” Katsura answered, mild as milk. “Takasugi’s insistence that he have a team to support him, and your wisdom in choosing the correct men for the task were a large part of their success. I’d say every man who participated in the mission deserves to be called a hero.”

“True words,” Yamagata’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “However, I must say, Himura is wasted in the Capital. A warrior like him shouldn’t be restricted to assassinations or guarding politicians. You have other men, less honorable men for such tasks. So as a sign of our friendship, won’t you assign Himura back to the Kiheitai? He was once one of us; I’d gladly make a place for him among my men again.”

“I have no doubts about Himura’s suitability for war. I’m sure he could have a great career in the Kiheitai.” Katsura smiled pleasantly, subtly clenching his hands into a white-knuckled fist inside his sleeve. “If he recovers from his injuries, you can suggest the transfer to him. If he so desires, I’ll allow it. However, I do have a great need for his talents and _unique_ reputation in the capital scene.”  

Yamagata smiled in satisfaction. “Thank you, Kido-san. I’ll surely do so.”

“By all means,” Katsura allowed, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

Oh, Yamagata-san could try all he wanted to poach his best man, but if there was one thing Katsura knew he could trust, it was Kenshin’s loyalty. However, letting Yamagata try… it was very important for their future working relationship.

Regrettably, it was clear Yamagata was no second-coming of Takasugi. No, Yamagata was a thinker and a cunning man, a marvelous tactician and army commander, but he didn’t share the same vision he and Takasugi had learned together, all those years ago, under Yoshida Shoin’s tutelage.  

 

* * *

 

Tomoe’s shawl was _ruined_.

The delicate pale blue cloth had faded in places to a murky, brownish tan after intensive washing and still, the bloodstains were clearly visible. Even her beautiful embroideries had started to loosen and unravel in places. But it was still hers, one of the very few things he had left of _her_ , and having it with him had saved his life. Somehow, years and miles beyond the grave, Tomoe had sacrificed something of herself and once again, saved his life.

It made him feel unworthy.

Kenshin rubbed his chest, trying to relieve the ache the thought brought. Oh gods, how he missed her.

Yet… He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t sure why.

By all reason and logic, he should be dead. He had pushed past his limits and blacked out in the worst possible moment, when the enemy warship had run aground on the beach. He shouldn’t have made it through the battle onshore, let alone woken up weeks later in a field hospital.

But here he was, alive and breathing, though still very weak.

He was badly anemic and pale, enough so that the doctor had remarked he could pass for a court lady or a maiko without needing to paint his face white. Kenshin hadn’t had the energy to protest, but judging by how ghastly the skin on his hands looked… maybe there was some truth to the words.

His stomach was covered in bandages, but he had seen the small, puckered bullet wound in his left side when the nurse had changed them. Strange, how such a small wound could cause so much trouble. It didn’t look nearly as alarming as some of the other injuries he had suffered before, but then again, what he _saw_ was far from the real extent of the damage. In that one lightning fast thrust, the bullet had gone _through_ his body, breaking through blood vessels and muscles with ease. Just a hint to the right, and his inner organs would have been pierced and with bad enough luck, various bodily fluids could have seeped out of them, poisoning him from the inside.

A disturbing thought.

Kenshin stroked his stomach, trying to imagine it… then shuddered and lifted his left hand for inspection.

His thumb was tightly wrapped, but the doctor had warned him not to trust his grip again. Most likely, the joint would be loose for the rest of his life and could pop out when stressed. It shouldn’t give his daily life much difficulty; he should be able to do most everyday things, maybe even handle sword work after giving his thumb time to heal, but he couldn’t trust his grip, not like he could with his right hand. On the flipside, if he ever needed to escape tight bonds again, dislocating it on purpose should be easy enough.

When it came to anything else… Kenshin didn’t know much. He had woken up two days ago, but all anyone had told him was to take it easy and give his ailing body time to heal. However, given the number of weak, flickering ki presences around him and how the only people moving about seemed to be either doctors, nurses, or a few Choshuu samurai and their women, Kenshin gathered that the Kiheitai and the rest of their troops had packed up and departed.

Apparently, he had fought in a war for a single day and then lay unconscious on his back for the rest of the excitement.

So strange.

Well, most likely Katsura-san would let him know at some point what he wanted him to do, by message or something.

Speaking of messages, the doctor had given him the strangest letter this morning. It was very politely worded, filled with praise for Kenshin’s “heroic achievement” and how “he could have a promising army career” and how “Katsura-san had agreed to transfer him if he so desired.” Even if Kenshin hadn’t had trouble reading the fine calligraphy, the message would have been confusing. Nothing he had done was particularly heroic. And transferring back to the Kiheitai? Why on earth would he _want_ to have an army career?

Adding to his bafflement was that apparently, this message came directly from Yamagata-san, as the acting commander of the Kiheitai. The last he recalled, Yamagata hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about seeing him. So what had changed? Had something happened when he had been unconscious? Had the commander gotten hit in the head or something, to start spouting such outrageous ideas?

The door flap to his tent was pulled open all of a sudden, and instead of a doctor or nurse, the massive form of Yasu-san peeked inside. “Well, look! The sleeping beauty is awake at last!”

“O… er,” Kenshin gaped at the choice of words, but before he could figure out a proper greeting in turn, Yasu-san hopped inside on a pair of crutches and Kenshin’s gaze fell down the man’s injured leg and even lower, below the knee, which just… wasn’t there.

Kenshin paled. “What happened!”

“Oh, this?” Yasu glanced down, then snorted dryly, “Don’t bother your pretty head about it. The doctor cut it off. Said I’d die of fever otherwise; dirt in the wound or some such. I don’t blame him. I’ve seen people with wound rot. Not a nice death, that.”

“But, but…” Kenshin gaped, his eyes wide with horror.

This… This was beyond his understanding. Sure, no one had told him anything. The only thing he knew of the aftermath came from that letter where Yamagata lauded him as a hero for the success of the mission without actually telling him anything important, like what had happened to the _others_. The doctors and nurses had given him similar empty compliments. But how could they call him a _hero_ , if this was the price of his stubbornness? He remembered Yasu’s wound. Back in the fourth ship, it hadn’t been more than a hindrance for the man, not worth cutting off his leg. So this, this had to have come later, which meant that the person who had dragged him back through the battle on the beach had to have been…

“…It was you. You saved my life.”

Yasu looked aside. “Eh, someone had to.”

“How can you say that!” Kenshin gasped, his heart thundering in his ribcage. “Your leg… you lost your _leg_ because of me!”

“No, I didn’t.” Yasu turned to him, his voice taking on the hint of a growl. “Don’t kid yourself, son. I did what I had to do, but so did you – and because of your stubbornness, we got that last warship, too. Everyone’s saying it turned the tide of the battle, that we won because of it. We won – against impossible odds, we won. And if my leg was the cost, I paid it gladly.”

“But,” Kenshin swallowed slowly, feeling rather small and insignificant. “But I, ah… um, that is to say, what about your life? The Kiheitai? What will you do?”

“Who knows? I’ll figure something out.” Yasu said dismissively. “I’m alive and that’s more than I expected. Hell, that’s a far better deal than most of my friends got, sinking to a watery grave. Besides, I don’t need to work for my living anymore. I got a nice pension and a place to stay near Hagi. That fancy politician, Kido-san, arranged it for me as thanks.”

“Ah… he did? That’s good,” Kenshin agreed, somewhat dazed. With relief coursing through his body, he slumped down, which of course disagreed rather badly with the wound in his side.

He hissed, pressing his hand against it.

“Tch,” Yasu scoffed, and hobbled closer to him, sitting awkwardly on the stool the doctor had left close to the bed. “You really need to start learning to put things into perspective, son. Here you are, worrying about others when you are pale as a ghost yourself.”

Kenshin reddened a bit at the comment. “This unworthy one’s not that bad, that he isn’t.”

“And there you go again – back to _this one_ and _that it is_. What’s up with that?” Yasu raised an eyebrow.

“O… er,” Kenshin blinked, “Um… what’s wrong with it?”

Yasu shot him a look. “No one your age speaks like that. Actually, scratch that – the only person I have ever heard using that old-timey speech was the old, sneering samurai who came to claim my farm to settle my debts.”

That explained some things. Mainly, Yasu’s instant dislike of him when they first met, but… “It’s just easier, that it is.” Kenshin looked down at his lap and fiddled with his blankets. “This one isn’t a samurai, he has never been one, but it’s easier to be this unworthy one and use polite address than to look people in the eye, so it is.”

Silence landed between them, but then Yasu groaned tiredly, “There you go again, speaking nonsense. The hell if I understand half of what you say when you get all twisted up like that, boy.”

Kenshin glanced up, but Yasu didn’t elaborate.

Instead, the soldier turned to look at the tent’s door flap and the shadow before it. “Yu, is that you?” Yasu shouted. “Then come in already! The boy is awake and coherent – well, mostly coherent. Maybe you can talk some sense into him!”

“Oh?” The man asked cheerfully, then stepped inside. He was from the fourth ship? “Hello there, Himura-san! You’re finally awake then!”

“Er… Hello,” Kenshin answered, somewhat hesitant.

“Don’t mind the boy, Yu,” Yasu cut in. “Half the time he speaks, it comes out as confusing nonsense wrapped in fancy words.” Then he turned to Kenshin. “Anyways, me and Yu have a couple things to speak to you about. Firstly, there’s a rumor in the camp that Yamagata-san offered you a place in the Kiheitai.”

“…Um, yes? He left this unworthy one a letter about it, so he did.” Kenshin hesitated, but then forged ahead. “Obviously, this one is going to turn him down.”

“Why would you do that?” Yu stared at him. “Isn’t this the best thing that could happen to you?”

Kenshin knew it was a good offer and part of him could understand why Yasu and the stranger, Yu, seemed so baffled. But the thing was, Kenshin hadn’t been able to consider accepting it, even for a second. “This unworthy one… hates killing,” he finally said, avoiding their eyes. “This one’s leader, Kido-san, knows it and respects it, that he does.”

“So you’d rather work as a hitokiri? Murdering people at the beck and call of some shady politician?” Yasu scoffed incredulously. “You know, at first I thought you a glorified killer, someone who had been groomed to it from a young age. But out there on the warships, you fought harder than anyone I’d ever seen. You saved my men and gave us all a victory. True, there were losses – there always are, in war. But it all balances out anyway. So what if I lost my leg and got discharged? Thanks to it, my pal Yu got promoted. So Himura – look up and be proud, or I’ll kick your ass and make your pretty face see sense!”

Yasu finished his tirade by standing up on his crutches proudly, his back straight and his ki flaring in challenge, like a king declaring his will over his domain.

“O… er, that is,” Kenshin stammered. Unable to find the words, he swallowed, closed his eyes briefly and then struggled to sit up, meeting Yasu’s eyes directly. “This one… I, ah… I’m sorry, that I am. And thank you, for everything.”

Yasu smiled.

Then he hobbled closer and clapped Kenshin on the shoulder like a comrade.

The force of the hit made Kenshin almost topple over, but by some miracle, he managed to keep his balance.  

“Ah, man… look at you!” Yasu burst into laughter. “The horrible Battousai, slayer of hundreds and destroyer of black ships, weak as a kitten.”

“Yasu, give the boy some slack.” Yu huffed fondly from the sidelines. “He almost died. You have been up on your feet for weeks now, he just woke up two days ago.”

“Sure, Yu – sure,” Yasu said. “But don’t think for a second I didn’t see you grin.”

Kenshin blushed, but nevertheless, tried to sit up straight again. It was mortifying enough to appear so weak in the presence of other men; the last thing he needed was for them to realize how sick he truly was.

A close by ki presence flickered in curiosity and Kenshin looked up, somewhat startled. It was Yu, and for some reason, Yasu’s friend was looking at him a bit strangely, like he had a question on his mind.

“Is something wrong?” Kenshin asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” The man shook his head, but then shrugged and asked, “It’s just… forgive my curiosity, but as a man of faith, I couldn’t help but notice that you use ki internally – or am I mistaken?”

“…That’s true.” Kenshin blinked, thoroughly puzzled. How had Yu known that? And a man of faith, what did that have to do with anything?

“I don’t use ki myself. I never had the talent for it, I’m afraid,” Yu hurried to explain. “But back at the monastery in the Miune mountains in Tosa, some people trained in the principles of it. None of them used it like you do, but I have seen people reinforce their weapons with it. And a few times, I saw someone dabbling in brief internal manipulation to perform impossible feats, but when they failed to control the flow…” Yu grimaced. “It’s a terrible sight to see. People have destroyed organs with it. Yet you use it so casually, like it’s easy, just another ability. I’d bet good money that the sect would be interested in your knowledge.”

Kenshin frowned. “Unfortunately, the way this unworthy one uses ki is one of a kind, that it is. This one doubts anyone could replicate it even if they tried, that he does.” He paused, then continued apologetically, “Also, the logic of it is based on the principles of this one’s sword style… and those secrets are not this one’s to give away, that they aren’t.”

Although obviously puzzled, the former monk didn’t insist, merely inclining his head in acceptance.

Kenshin sighed with relief.

Even now, he believed in his heart that Hiten Mitsurugi’s way of using ki belonged only in the hands of two: the master and apprentice, to be used for the betterment of the people, not for anyone to study or use in the name of some faith. And while Kenshin had abandoned his Master and joined the Ishin Shishi to fight for what he believed would lead to a better era for all people… even after all the terrible choices and failures he had made in the name of that belief, he couldn’t betray the creed of Hiten Mitsurugi.

And more, behind all that… was the knowledge that he was only the apprentice. He wasn’t worthy of sharing anything he knew.

That right belonged only to the Master.

“…Right.” Yasu cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, funky spiritual mumbo jumbo stuff aside, what are you gonna do next, son?”

“O… er,” Kenshin hesitated, but thankful for the change in topic, he shrugged awkwardly. “Um, most likely this one will stay here until Kido-san contacts him, that he will.”  

“I see.” Yasu nodded. “Then thank him for me as well, will you?”

Kenshin blinked, startled. “…Alright.”

“Hey, don’t look so baffled.” Yasu grinned. “I’m healthy enough to leave, so there’s no way in hell I’m gonna stick around here any longer than I have to. Thanks to that Kido of yours, I have money to blow on drink and ladies… and a good place to crash when I don’t feel like drinking anymore.”

Yasu lopped a lazy salute in his direction, before hobbling to the tent’s door flap that Yu was holding open for him. There, he paused one last time and shot a look over his shoulder. “Son… try to look after yourself, alright? And if you get a chance, come visit me in Hagi. I’ll take you out for the wildest night of your life!”  

 

* * *

 

The following summer was, in a way, one long victory march for Choshuu and for all the Ishin Shishi. One battle at the time, Choshuu defeated the Bakufu’s armies on four different fronts, showing not only the cunning of their leaders, and determination and battle prowess of the Kiheitai, but also how very weak the Tokugawa Shogunate had become. And now that Satsuma and Choshuu had entered into an alliance, many more provinces were expressing interest in joining the coalition. This all made Katsura-san extremely satisfied, but also extremely busy – too busy to take a side tour to the province to pick up his injured bodyguard.

So, in late June, after Kenshin was finally up on his feet and wondering whether he should go to Hagi along with rest of the hospital crew, he received a message from Katsura-san, calling him back to Kyoto. Katsura-san had arranged everything for the trip; money and passage by ship from Hagi to Osaka.

There was no particular hurry for his return. The doctors had strongly suggested that he convalesce for the summer before even thinking of returning to duty, but the ugly fact was that Kenshin had been getting more and more restless lately. Waiting and fiddling his thumbs didn’t sit right with him.

So while he could have stopped in Hagi for the night and sought out Yasu… he didn’t.

He wasn’t entirely sure why.

It was just, what was there to celebrate? They had held their own, but they hadn’t won – not yet. Despite their successes during the summer, the Bakufu was far from beaten: case in point, despite the unofficial ceasefire, there was no talk of a truce yet. The Bakufu troops had just stopped pressing for an advantage.

So put like that, there was really no question at all. Kenshin passed through Hagi without so much as stopping for a meal, finding the ship Katsura-san had arranged for him as passage to Osaka. From there, he chose to walk, rather than ride, to Kyoto. Given his general weakness, it was not a particularly fast way to travel, but at least he could set the pace himself, without worrying what a four-legged beast of burden might decide to do.

He arrived in Kyoto at the beginning of the seventh month without much fanfare. The conical reed hat he had bought at the harbor hid his hair from casual looks and Tomoe’s scarf, as stained as it was, covered his scar. By all appearances he looked like a penniless ronin down his luck, heading to the capital in search of better opportunities.  

Given how none of the Bakufu samurai keeping watch along the roads pulled him aside for questioning, like they did to any suspicious looking character coming into town, Kenshin concluded his sloppy disguise was far more convincing than he had thought.

However, when even Katsura-san paled at the sight of him… perhaps he just looked that sorry.

The doctor Katsura-san called to examine him decided that the gunshot wound was healing as well as could be expected; the stitches had been removed back at the Kiheitai field hospital and it was just a red, ugly, puckered scar in his side. However, his main problem was anemia and the resulting undernourishment. The disgusting diet that was supposed to replenish his blood had robbed him of his appetite and as a result, he had lost a lot of weight.

Honestly, it was no wonder that he felt so weak.

Unfortunately, there was no simple solution to the dilemma. Kenshin had been a picky eater long before this, and thought he tried his best to eat more, it wasn’t easy. The food tasted like ash and blood to him and after a certain point, he just couldn’t force himself to swallow any more or his stomach would rebel on him.

Another worrying thing – one that Kenshin didn’t share with the doctor or Katsura-san – was that his overused ki had been very slow to replenish and even now, his ki-burned muscles felt sore. It was his own problem and compared to the rest of his injuries, Kenshin didn’t think it was much of an issue.

Sadly, there wasn’t anything he could do for the Ishin Shishi or Katsura-san until he was healthy. So in the meantime, Katsura-san took on another bodyguard and ordered Kenshin to recuperate at the Choshuu-patronized inn he had stayed previously, the same one where Ito-san’s men were staying.

He was welcomed back with respectful nods, followed by subtle second looks noting the slight tremors running through his hands, his paleness, and the gauntness of his cheeks.

It stung, a bit.

He wasn’t an invalid! He’d been shot and nearly bled to death, but he was still walking, wasn’t he? The last thing he needed was pity, for fuck’s sake.

If there was one good thing about the uneasy cease-fire back in Choshuu, it was that the Capital had become surprisingly peaceful – for anyone not important enough. The imperial court and political arena were in chaos due to the Bakufu’s shameful defeat. Everyone was vying for favor and busy trying to save face, but all that frantic political backstabbing hadn’t yet come to bother the ordinary folk, or samurai and men like Kenshin, who were waiting at the beck and call of their lords. True, everyone was wary. Things could still go south, but for now, the Bakufu seemed too busy with in-fighting to dedicate much time to hunting rebels.

What that meant in practice… was that for the first time in ages, Kenshin had a lot of free time and nothing to fill it with. He didn’t particularly want to stay in the inn, but most things he usually filled his hours with, such as practicing swordsmanship, were flat out forbidden for him.

So after sitting inside for a couple days, eating as much as he could and resting, he finally had enough of it. Donning his shoddy disguise, Kenshin left for town, bought flowers, and headed to _her_ grave, to spend time with her.

It was stupid, reckless… and altogether just what he had needed.

So despite the danger, Kenshin took to visiting her daily.

He knew the conical reed hat and Tomoe’s shawl weren’t much of a disguise – even in the best case scenario they wouldn’t ward off people’s suspicions for long. Already, people were starting to notice him, and given how bloody Battousai’s reputation was, and how his achievements in battle had merely fed the flames, he really needed to come up with something better.

Part of the problem was that the few options he had tried so far weren’t much of a disguise at all, nor particularly effective at hiding his tell-tale looks. Even when he wrapped his hair in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, the hat didn’t cover all of it. Tomoe’s scarf was so stained, so worn that it just screamed, “look at me, I’m hiding something.” Even when he left it back at the inn and tried passing as an ordinary youth, dressing in his summer yukata and not carrying any visible weapons… well, no one said anything to his face, but he got his fair share of evaluating looks. Worse, given how often he visited the flower vendors or stopped to buy a snack, in hopes that eating outside, and not in front of the suffocating audience at the inn, would make _that_ task easier, the regulars at the marketplace were starting to remember him, greeting him and inquiring after his well-being.

Kenshin was acutely aware how thin the ice was getting.

How long would it take until someone added two and two together and got seven? The Bakufu’s price for aiding Battousai’s capture was still there, up for anyone to claim.

Paranoia driving him, Kenshin began to vary his routes, seeking out other merchants to visit. Kyoto was a large town, the spiritual center of the country, and thus there were several temples and no lack of flower vendors or street stalls selling something to eat or to drink in the sweltering summer heat. All these little purchases were piling up, making his money pouch lighter, but then again – he had been saving his stipend for quite a while. He could afford these little things, if for no other reason than to keep him sane.

Despite his best efforts, Kenshin couldn’t help but feel all these precautions just weren’t enough. But what else could he do to keep people from connecting him to Hitokiri Battousai?

Lady Ikumatsu had once recommended he think what the rumors said and try to subvert them on purpose, to drive people’s gazes away by dressing in a different manner than Battousai ought to.

However, his clothing options were... limited. And even if he could spend money on getting something new to wear into town, what should he buy?

Honestly, Kenshin had no idea.

Most of his clothing was very similar; gray hakama, kimono in dark colors, done in practical cotton or fancy silk. Everything had been picked for work, not for leisure. Come to think of it, had he _ever_ chosen a piece of clothing for himself? What did people his age wear in the streets? And how would that help to protect him from being recognized?

…Gods, why had his life become so difficult?

Kenshin slumped to sit against _her_ grave and buried his face in his hands with frustrated desperation.

If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, things would be much easier now. He groaned, then straightened, eyeing his ragged ponytail darkly. The red shone in the afternoon light like copper tinted with flames. It was so bright, so noticeable, and now that it came down to his buttocks, the sheer length made it really inconvenient. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t hide it under hats properly; some of it always slipped free from his hair ties and tumbled down his back. Despite that, he wasn’t going to cut it.

 _She_ had liked it long.

Besides, seeing sunlight was one of the few things he took pleasure in these days, so the sooner he could ditch the hat, the better. But what else could he do to disguise himself?

It was a dilemma, indeed.

Perhaps, it was no wonder that Kenshin turned to Lady Ikumatsu once again for advice.

She was of the opinion that a big part of his problem came from the fact that he didn’t look like a child any longer. Although he was short enough to pass for a boy, he had lost a lot of weight and as a result his features had sharpened, making him look older. Lady Ikumatsu also noted that he had grown taller and gotten broader in the shoulders since the winter. Kenshin didn’t really believe her, but then she boldly wanted to measure his height, and it was true, somehow he had finally passed five feet – if only by an inch.

In a way, it was nice to hear that he had grown.

But on the other hand, it was kinda pathetic, wasn’t it? He was _seventeen_ now. He didn’t have much time left to grow and most ladies were taller than that.

Well, it didn’t help crying over something he couldn’t change. He had been born scrawny, and it seemed that was the way he was going to be for the rest of his life.

However, when it came to his search for a better disguise…

Lady Ikumatsu’s first suggestion was to dye his hair. Wigs used in her work were dyed black and it wouldn’t be difficult to get the color for him. Of course, he would need to keep dyeing his hair every couple weeks, every time his roots began to show. The same went for his eyebrows. If he didn’t want to have ill-matching colors, he would need to attend to those too. Or perhaps he could pluck his brows or paint over them like some geiko and maiko did?

The more she explained her idea, the more hesitant Kenshin became. It wasn’t just how tedious it sounded in practice, but also, what about the moments when he needed to look like Battousai? True, he was on sick leave at the moment, but what if Katsura needed to have a bodyguard bearing the rare and easily recognizable features of Choshuu’s legendary killer? And what about later? When he got back to his duty, he wanted his opponents to know who they were facing, just so they could realize how dire the threat was – that had been the reason why he had let his description become known in the first place!

So really, there was only one answer to her suggestion.

“No,” Kenshin said softly. “Thank you, but it would be better to have a… less permanent solution, that it would.”

“Then…” Lady Ikumatsu hesitated, “Himura-kun, how delicate is your pride?”

Kenshin didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t think of himself as being particularly prideful, and these days, he didn’t care much what people thought of him. But when Lady Ikumatsu suggested that he either use his feminine looks to his advantage or cultivate foolish and flamboyant behavior to make people dismiss his odd looks...

Well, he wasn’t one to lie, he wasn’t much of an actor and he didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about behaving in a foolish manner, so it seemed he was left with only one option. Admittedly, Kenshin wasn’t too excited about it. He was all too aware how the men he was rooming with would take it, but then again, people had mistaken him for a girl before.

So in all honesty, it wasn’t _that_ much of a stretch.

For the purpose, Lady Ikumatsu gifted him a kimono. It wasn’t exactly lady’s wear, but it came with a wider sash and it was cut with a somewhat closer fit than the kimono he was used to wearing. Men’s clothing was always a bit loosely cut on the chest and stomach, and on him, they tended to sit in a fairly relaxed manner so that quite a bit of his chest was on display. This kimono… didn’t. Or perhaps, it was the wider sash that did the trick?

In any case, it wasn’t a particularly odd look, even if the color was a tad loud: purple background covered with a lighter patterns of maple leaves. Kenshin had seen men wearing such colors before, but on him – well, it did look quite girlish.

So whenever Kenshin wanted to visit her grave, or just spend time in town, he took to pinning his hair up to a messy bun with the comb or plain hair ornaments that Lady Ikumatsu had loaned him. It was fairly easy to arrange the longer strands of his bangs so that they covered the scar on his cheek, and then, he dressed in that silly kimono, the sash tied high. If people mistook him for a girl, a kabuki actor preparing for a role, or an entertainer from Shimabara out on a stroll, he didn’t care.

Though he did carry his wakizashi up his sleeve, for safety and peace of mind.

Not only to defend himself in case things went sour and the Shinsengumi or some other Bakufu member tried to arrest him, but because he was starting to become more and more aware of the admiring glances he was getting.

So no, he wasn’t going anywhere unarmed – period.

What was with people, both men and women, looking at him like that anyway? It made him feel like something unpleasant was crawling on his skin. He didn’t have any interest whatsoever in any sort of intimacy with _anyone_.

He was hardly functioning, and even now, his heart still ached for _her_.

The new daytime look was a source of hilarity among the Choshuu men Kenshin roomed with, but because they knew him as… well, one who desired affection from other men, they seemed to think the new clothes and his dabbling with his hairstyle were just part of his quirks, like the old-fashioned speech pattern he insisted on using, or how he slept sitting up.

The saddest thing about the whole spectacle was that it worked. In the following weeks, Kenshin went anywhere he wanted and lingered as long as he felt like in the crowded streets and not once did he notice even one suspicious second glance, nor catch a whiff of gossip about him looking like Hitokiri Battousai.

At the end of summer, Kenshin was finally deemed healthy again and he went back on the job, guarding Katsura-san when required, as well as protecting their men on missions and running other miscellaneous errands. Given how little trouble they ran across, Kenshin was beginning to believe that the revolution was finally coming to an end. That their dream of a new era would come true and soon, there would come a day when his sword wasn’t needed anymore.

He had no idea what he would do when that happened, but the very thought was enough to make his heart feel lighter.

Sometimes, when visiting _her_ , he even dared to speak out loud about these hesitant hopes, about how soon he could finally keep his promise to her – to never kill again.

Oh, it would be a wonderful day.

Then, at the beginning of the ninth month, everything changed – and not for the better – when it was publically announced that the Shogun, Tokugawa Iemochi, had died from a long-standing illness.

After a brief period of chaos back in Edo, the new Shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, was chosen.

The new Shogun didn’t waste time, immediately setting up negotiations for a formal cease-fire with Choshuu, thus ending Iemochi’s desperate gambit, now called the second Choshuu expedition. With the leader of the Bakufu’s failed war campaign dead, the Bakufu managed to save face and began calming down the provincial politicians and the chaos at the Imperial court, to the rebel’s great misfortune.

The new Shogun didn’t stop there; he began to push for modernization, making one capable decision after another for the sake of strengthening the country. Suddenly, the politicians and men in power who had been swaying towards the rebel agenda were stepping back, biding their time – waiting to see what would happen. Many were looking at the new Shogun Yoshinobu as a chance to save the old governmental system and the Shogun’s position as the leader of the country in these turbulent times.

So only a short while after everything had seemed to be going in the Ishin Shishi’s favor and the taste of victory had been on their tongues… they were back to square one.

The dark mood among the rebels seemed universal.

The political chaos affected Kenshin and the men he was lodging with in the northern quarter of Kyoto, too – albeit in a far more personal manner. Since Ito-san had been transferred back to Choshuu for lighter duties, they lacked a direct superior to lead them on missions, assign them duties, handle their pay, and take care of whatever concerns they might have.

Now, they were finally assigned a replacement.

Even Katsura-san was sorry about the choice. “I don’t much care for the man. He is a sneaky weasel, but unfortunately, he has a slippery tongue and he is very well connected among the higher echelons of Ishin Shishi. I could step in, but not without a significant reason. And as of now, Nakamura _is_ qualified for the post.” Katsura-san noticed Kenshin’s thinly-veiled grimace, then added, “But it something happens... If the situation becomes truly difficult, then tell me. I’ll do something about it then.”

There was little Kenshin could say to that, so he merely nodded and let the matter drop. He had fairly thick skin these days and in general, he didn’t care what people thought of him. But to have a man who was petty enough to carry a grudge against him for their past interactions as his closest superior?

How could he not be worried?

Worse, he could read Katsura-san’s cues well enough to pick up on the fact that for some reason, his leader couldn’t protest Nakamura’s nomination to the post without incurring a significant loss. And that was something Kenshin couldn’t ask from his leader, not for the sake of his comfort. Besides, all he had were fears and doubts based on past transgressions. He didn’t know for certain if Nakamura would be as, ah… _difficult_ a man as he remembered him being.

It could very well be that Nakamura had changed, couldn’t it?

And even he hadn’t, Kenshin thought with no small distaste, he could be the better man and ignore Nakamura’s issues and just focus on the job.

Not a week later, Kenshin and the nine other Choshuu samurai he had been living with on and off for over a year were assigned to guard an Ishin Shishi leadership meeting. The attendance was composed of influential men from three domains; Satsuma, Choshuu and the newly joined Tosa. This was not a formal meeting between provinces, but rather an attempt to collaborate their rebel activities. None of the power players, like Katsura-san, Saigo-san, Okubo-san, or Sakamoto-san were present, but instead, this was a chance for their advisors and middlemen working in Kyoto to get to know each other.

As Choshuu was hosting the meeting in the Northern district, it was Nakamura’s responsibility to see to the arrangements and handle the security. Frankly, quite a few of Nakamura’s decisions seemed over the top for such a simple meeting: for example, his insistence on having Kenshin by his side in the meeting room itself. Most people chalked these things up to Nakamura being overly cautious about his new duty, but Kenshin wasn’t so sure.

Nakamura was a man who took pleasure in displaying his power.

And really, sitting at Nakamura’s side, it reminded him far too much of how Katsura-san had often used Hitokiri Battousai’s legend to his advantage. Even Katsura-san pulling stunts like this had bothered Kenshin on some level, but his leader held his loyalty and it was a tactic that advanced their joint cause.

What Nakamura was doing, though… was just pathetic.

But his superior had given him orders and this meeting was of some importance, so he really couldn’t protest. Besides, what difference did it make if he sat inside the meeting room or outside of it? So Kenshin just sighed, and tried his best to ignore the subtle stares everyone seemed to be shooting at his hair and the scar on his cheek, and how after each and every one of those looks, Nakamura seemed to preen in self-important smugness.

It was nearing midnight when Kenshin felt a squadron of defined ki presences nearing their location. No other rebel units were supposed to come near here tonight and civilians didn’t have defined ki like that, which meant that a Bakufu troop was getting dangerously close. Provincial samurai rarely moved in an organized manner like that, the Mimawarigumi wouldn’t be this far outside of their patrol areas… so that left the Shinsengumi.

…And shit, there was the cold, calculating presence he could recognize in his sleep: the captain of the third squadron, Saito Hajime. Kenshin hurried to mask his own ki. With his fingers on his sword’s handle, he stood up and said, “Nakamura-san… we have to leave.”

Everyone turned to stare at him – one could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed his proclamation.

But then, Nakamura demanded, “Why?”

“The Shinsengumi, the third squadron,” Kenshin bit off, tense as a bowstring, his attention riveted on the flickers of ki nearing them.

“Alright.” Nakamura nodded, rising to his feet as well. “Let’s get ready to retreat. I’ll go prepare the men for battle. Himura, you will escort our guests to safety.”

Kenshin stared, his eyes widening in disbelief. _But… That doesn’t make any sense! I’ve always covered the retreats!_ “Nakamura-san,” he protested. “This one would be a far better suited to defend…”

“You’ll do as I command!” Nakamura bit out. “Our guests’ safety is paramount in this situation. You are the best fighter here and the smaller the group retreating, the better chance you’ll have to escape from the ambush! So move it!”

For a second, Kenshin couldn’t do anything but stand there in stunned confusion, too distracted by the anger stirring in the pit of his belly from having his opinion overridden to even protest.

And then, it was far too late.

Nakamura barked orders to the Choshuu men, commanding them to create a distraction so the guests could escape. It was sheer lunacy. Kenshin knew exactly what Saito’s famous squadron was capable of and these Choshuu samurai couldn’t defeat them. Worse, Saito’s group had more men.

Oh, gods! What should he do?

He couldn’t disobey Nakamura, not in front of all these leaders – it would reflect badly on Katsura-san. But that was Saito! One of the best swordsmen in the whole country! No one here but him could stop Saito, not even if they gave it their all. But at the same time, Kenshin had been ordered to escort the rebel leaders to safety and he didn’t have _time_ to argue.

So he scowled and hurried after the escaping leaders led by Nakamura, knowing he couldn’t afford to look back to count the flickers of ki dying out behind him. A helpless anger stirred inside him, a real rage – no, _fury._ He hadn’t been friends with these men, but they had respected his boundaries and left him alone. Not even once had they treated him like he was an insane murderer they ought to be wary of, either. No, for them he had been just another rebel; a famous swordsman, yes – but also just a little guy who was odd and somewhat quirky.

In a way, those men… had been his comrades.

And now they were dying, trying to do a job that should by all reason and logic belong to him.

What made it worse was that the escape went without a hitch. They didn’t encounter any other Bakufu men. No one was laying in wait to ambush them on their way to safety. Without a single complication, all the guests made it to the safe house and after they caught their breath, they complimented Nakamura for his leadership and excellent planning, before slipping away into the night.

Kenshin and Nakamura were left alone to wait for the rest of their men, pacing like a pair of moody, anxious cats.

In situations like these, it was customary to stay in the safe house and wait for the stragglers to catch up with them, not to double back and try to help. The defenders either made it to safety or they did not. If they died, there was nothing anyone could do to help them, and if they had gotten captured – without backup, it was considered too dangerous to try to take on the Bakufu squadron that managed the feat. Only when they _knew_ there were survivors, could they attempt to help.

Kenshin had never, ever needed to wait for others. He had always been the last one to get to safety and often, Ito-san had walked him back to the inn. Restlessness and helpless rage churned inside him, threatening to break through the thin veneer of calm he was clinging to. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper, not here. So carefully, he settled to wait by the doorway and concentrated on breathing steadily, trying to keep his emotions under control.

His ki was edgy, ready to respond to the slightest stimuli. This waiting, this tension was nearly unbearable.

Nakamura was pacing just a couple feet from him. Sweat dripped from his brow and he grasped his hands tightly behind his back, trying to look dignified, but at best, projected the demeanor of a rabid weasel.

“Where are they? They should be here by now!” Nakamura snarled, turning on his heels once more.

Kenshin exhaled slowly, letting his breath flow through his teeth. His fingers gripped the cloth of his sleeves as he struggled to hold back his instinctive retort. Nakamura was already agitated. If Kenshin projected his own black mood on him, it would help neither of them. Quite the contrary. If they got into a fight now, they wouldn’t be ready to help the men they were waiting for.

But still, for god’s sake, couldn’t Nakamura stop pacing?

Somehow, that single nervous act was wearing on Kenshin’s already shredded nerves like nothing else.

It was bad enough that he had all but known that this would happen when the self-centered idiot assigned to command them had chosen to send their men to the wolves. Such stupidity, and it could have been so easily avoided! If only Nakamura had listened to him!

Kenshin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. _I can’t lose my temper, not here. It would just give Nakamura more ammunition against me._

But really, he should have simply ignored Nakamura’s orders. He had known what would happen. He knew their men would lose against Saito’s, and the Shinsengumi wasn’t known for their mercy. Whoever they didn’t kill, they would capture and torture for information, then execute as traitors.

 _I should have been_ there _, not here._

He _could_ have been out there, buying time for _everyone_ participating in this blasted guard mission to get to safety, not just the guests.

 _But that Nakamura… why did Nakamura give such a stupid order? Why? What could he gain from killing off most of his men?_ Kenshin tensed with the weight of realization. What if Nakamura hadn’t known how he fought? Hadn’t known how to use his men to the best advantage? What if Nakamura had chosen to make such a stupid decision again out of _ignorance_?

“Nakamura-san,” Kenshin started. “This unworthy one covers the retreats. Even against overwhelming odds or the Shinsengumi’s famous commanders, this unworthy one can buy enough time for our men to get to safety, that he can. However, your orders…”

Before he could finish, Nakamura’s face twisted in an ugly grimace, and then he was right before Kenshin, face to face. “Shut up! You may be Kido’s dog, but now I hold your leash!” Nakamura shouted at him, his spit flying all over Kenshin’s face. “You don’t have the right to question my orders, not now or ever! You are just a murderer, a fucking murderer Kido uses as long as he needs to!”

And Kenshin’s temper _snapped_.

The anger twisting in his guts bloomed into a red hot rage, spreading through him like wildfire. He gasped, his right hand flying to the hilt of his sword, his fingers clenching around it in a white-knuckled grip as his ki exploded around him in a whirlwind of pure energy, slashing and cutting and gouging the floor, the walls, and Nakamura’s outreached hand—

“AAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

The screeching wail tore through the haze of anger around Kenshin, and eyes wide with panic, he panted, the smell of blood fogging his nostrils.

_Blood…_

_Why is there blood?_

Nakamura was lying on the floor, screaming and cradling his hand like a dying thing.

_What have I done?_

The realization hit him like a stone wall dropped on his shoulders. The sheer weight of his mistake struck him, panic flooding his veins. One by one, Kenshin pried his fingers from the hilt of his katana, dread rising at the back of his throat. He had almost drawn a blade on his superior. He had almost killed one of his fellow rebels. Oh, gods.

As if sleepwalking, Kenshin swallowed and took a hesitant step forward, to see if there was anything he could do to help…

Nakamura looked up at him as he sat up, cradling his wounded hand to his chest, his eyes filled with _hate._ “Insane…” he gasped. “You’re insane! A mad dog! Just like a mad dog!”

 

* * *

 

“Kenshin – an incident like this cannot happen again,” Katsura-san said gravely. “I understand you were sorely provoked by Nakamura’s, ah, _unthinking_ words and didn’t actually draw steel against him, but you both were at fault. I have been instructed to reprimand you, and Nakamura, too, has received criticism. He has been instructed to let you cover the retreats should such a situation arise again. When it comes to the rest… this incident will be brushed aside and forgotten, but you two are expected to work together for now.”

Kenshin nodded slightly, hiding his eyes behind his overlong bangs. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt as ashamed as he did right now, kneeling in seiza before Katsura-san. They had no audience, but this was the first time Katsura-san had looked at him like this, like he was genuinely disappointed.

A soft sigh pierced the silence.

Kenshin bowed low and whispered, “May this unworthy one be excused?”

“I’ll need you as a bodyguard tomorrow,” Katsura-san informed him. “But for now… yes. You are free to go.”

Kenshin rose to leave. He didn’t look up to meet Katsura-san’s gaze. He didn’t quite dare, not after a failure like this. Instead, he simply turned away and slipped his sword into his sash. He was about to pull the sliding door open, when Katsura-san’s voice called after him. “Kenshin. Just be careful.”

The words echoed in his head all the way back to the inn.

There was trouble among the Ishin Shishi, it was plain as day – and somehow, it was tying even Katsura-san’s hands. Who was pushing Nakamura into a more influential position? What were they gaining from placing Kenshin under Nakamura’s command? Why was Katsura-san so wary? Why was he stepping back and acting as if… as if he needed to distance himself from him?

Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek, an uneasy feeling stirring inside him. Were the Ishin Shishi turning against each other now that the Shogun was gaining influence?

When all was said and done, the disastrous clash against Saito’s men had resulted in only four wounded defenders making it to the safe house, and Kenshin had stepped in to kill the Shinsengumi troops chasing after them. The five other Choshuu men had died. It was a black mark on Nakamura’s record that he had let half of his men get killed during his first important mission, but it brought him no other repercussions. It was chalked up to Nakamura’s inexperience as a leader and a lack of familiarity with the men under his command, not as faulty decision making – no, his orders had been considered logical and well-founded.

The death of five men… was just brushed aside and forgotten.

Nakamura would continue to lead the rebels situated in northeastern Kyoto and Kenshin would continue to work under him. Both of them had been reprimanded. The wound Nakamura had suffered to his hand was both trivial and perplexing – because, for all that he had a cut on the back of his hand, most people seemed to believe Katsura-san’s assurance that Kenshin had never drawn his sword.

Besides, it was just a scratch. Nakamura had been screaming out of fear, not pain.

It didn’t change the fact that Kenshin felt miserable about it.

He couldn’t let his anger guide him. _She_ would have hated seeing him like that. No matter how angry he got, he couldn’t lose it, not ever again. He still had nightmares from the Forest of Barriers and back then, he had been angry just like _that_.

No matter what the future would bring, no matter who he became, how stained and broken… he refused to be that vicious and cruel ever again.

Never again.

 

* * *

 

Thankfully, Nakamura backed off Kenshin’s case and became an almost capable leader. Well, in a way. No one seemed to like him and he didn’t have the same deft touch that Ito-san had, but he got the job done. However, whenever Nakamura saw Kenshin, he tended to flinch. And sometimes, Kenshin caught the man staring at him, eyes glimmering with hate and fear.

Kenshin couldn’t help feeling guilty and ashamed because of it.

The Choshuu rebels suffered another major setback that autumn when Takasugi Shinsaku died. Although it had been a long time coming, Katsura-san was in a dark mood for weeks afterward, burying himself in work.

So did Kenshin.

His life settled into an uneasy routine: he would run one mission after another, kill, kill, and kill. He’d ignore the whispers and gossip-mongering among the men, the looks of fear they directed at him… or the looks of desire. He would visit _her_ grave whenever he could, bringing her little offerings and just talking to her.

Yet, it was becoming harder to keep going, to believe in what they were doing. The shadow war that the revolution had become seemed to continue on and on. Nothing ever changed; politicians plotted and negotiated and the situation took one step forward and then two steps back.

Kenshin was becoming a more efficient killer, managing to do the job with less and less effort. These days, he hardly needed to think when he fought – it was enough to rely on instinct and experience. He wasn’t overpowered by grief or shame or guilt. He was always capable of thought, but it was just… the sheer drudgery of the mindless slaughter _dulled_ him.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t even enjoy duels with brilliant swordsmen like the Shinsengumi’s Saito-san or Okita-san anymore.

Or notice one perfectly obvious problem he’d been having.

“Your form is off, Himura,” the swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, remarked one early winter morning after Kenshin had gone to replace his sheath once again. “That toothpick of a sword is too slight for you. You need a heavier blade, preferably one that’s somewhat longer too.”

“O… er,” Kenshin stammered, completely flummoxed by the comment.

The swordsmith shot him a grin and motioned to the sword in Kenshin’s hands. “You have carried the same sword the whole time I have known you, but you have grown and your arms have gotten stronger. Say, when did you get this blade? When you were ten?”

Kenshin froze, thinking back. “This one was eleven,” he whispered, eyes wide with shock.

Had it been so long already?

He still remembered it like it was yesterday, the day his master had gifted him this sword. It had been a cherished gift, a sign that Master accepted and cared for him. He had carried it for years, through failures and bad choices, but now…

Kenshin looked down at the sword and drew it from its sheath. The steel was well-balanced, but everywhere on the steel were signs of its age, little hints of how ill-used a weapon it truly was. He took a step back and started slowly going through a kata, just feeling the movements, observing the details.

The katana felt more like an extension of his arm than a sword, but it was true – he was unconsciously adjusting his form to compensate for the blade’s ill-fit. He hadn’t ever really noticed it, but now his stance had gaps, little openings in his form that most wouldn’t ever see. His style was still good and unique and it worked well – oh, he could attest to how well it really worked in action – but it wasn’t _pure_.

This wasn’t the swordsmanship Master had taught him all those years ago.

Did it matter?

Kenshin sheathed his sword, then considered. “Sir Arai, there is truth to your words, so there is. But this unworthy one… this sword, it was a gift, that it was. It’s been tainted and used badly, but it will suffice for this unworthy one until the madness of the revolution is over, that it will.”

The swordsmith raised an eyebrow.

“Well, do as you like,” Arai-san finally said. “But it’s an unsuitable weapon for you.”

“So it is.” Kenshin nodded. “But this unworthy one won’t taint another blade with blood.” He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, looking away. “When the revolution is over and done with… this one will never take another life. It’s unnecessary for another blade to suffer through this unworthy one’s work.”

“The katana is a swordsman’s soul, so it is.” Kenshin trailed his fingers on his sword’s handle. “This sword... has seen it all. It’s too short in reach, yes. The weight is too slight for this one to attain perfect form in his kata, but it works well enough.”

“Never take another life?” The swordsmith scoffed. “Those are some fancy words for a manslayer. What are you going to do when that day comes?”

Kenshin tilted his face to feel the faint warmth of the winter sun, not bothering to open his eyes. “This one doesn’t know, that one doesn’t. One has no other skills other than swordsmanship, and in truth, that is what he is in his soul: a swordsman. But this one has made a vow. A killer’s blade… This unworthy one doesn’t want one on that day.”

When Kenshin turned back to Arai-san, the swordsmith was looking at him thoughtfully.

Then, suddenly, a real, warm smile bloomed on the smith’s gruff face. “Well, well – we will see about that, won’t we? There are plenty of battles to be fought before that day comes. But Himura, in the meantime, let’s figure out what we can do about that toothpick of yours.”

It was _perplexing_.

In all the years he had known the Ishin Shishi’s prized swordsmith, the man had always been tense, gruff in both words and manner. The man had never liked him, never hesitated to make his disdain clear, and he had never once offered to do more than what was ordered. Even then, most discussions they’d had came down to Arai-san admonishing him for the bad care of his sword.

But after that discussion, Arai-san willingly offered his help for the first time. He thought over Kenshin’s dilemma, and then finally refitted his sword with a new handle, one that was longer than average, but lighter, so that the balance wouldn’t tip.

To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t know what to make of this development. Arai-san was viewed as something of an odd heretic among swordsmiths because he had designed many unusual, even cruel swords that didn’t fit with what was considered proper Japanese swordcraft.

Kenshin had heard rumors that Choshuu’s current manslayer, a man named Shishio, used one of Arai’s blades that was downright mythical. The rumor mill claimed it could spark _fire_.

However, despite his hesitations, Kenshin found that it didn’t take long for him to get used to the new handle. Actually, he quickly saw to the heart of Arai-san’s vision. This little change… It was far from a perfect solution as it didn’t change the fact that his sword was far too light for him. Of course it didn’t, his katana had originally been made for a _child_. But now that he had a couple inches of additional reach, half the problems he hadn’t even realized he’d been having in fights were no longer an issue.

And for some reason, that made Kenshin finally understand that he had grown up, matured. He would never be a large man, true, but he was a man, both in mind and body.

 

* * *

 

On the day of the New Year, Kenshin was again kneeling at _her_ grave. He was wearing that silly purple kimono, but this time, he had pulled one of his lighter gray hakama over it for warmth. It was a cold morning. Water had frozen in buckets and frost had taken over the ground. The snow hadn’t reached the lowlands, but up in the mountains, everything was covered in white, like the nature gods had pulled on a mourning shroud.

Kenshin _hated_ the winter.

Today, exactly two years ago… Tomoe had left for that cursed forest, only to die there in the snow.

It felt like it had happened only yesterday.

And nothing, no matter how many he had killed for the cause, nothing had changed since then. Rebels were still pursued as enemies of the government. He still worked as a bodyguard and helped to protect men in missions.

As had become a habit of his, Kenshin spoke to _her._ She was his only confidante. There was no one else he could call his friend, no one else to whom he could speak freely. “Love, you forgave this unworthy one, wrote that this one should survive, should continue to fight because it was right. But how could this mad war be right? It just doesn’t _end_.”

“And this one… this unworthy one is so tired. At times, it feels like he is nothing but a wet rag wrung out to dry. There is nothing left, nothing but killing. This one’s dreams have contained nothing but misery and horror, and every night, they still end with your last breaths. The days are nothing but emptiness, screams, and the smell of blood that clings to this one like a fog. There is nothing left for this one, that there isn’t.”

His eyes falling shut, Kenshin tried to keep breathing, but there was something squeezing his throat. So instead, he clenched his hands on the cloth of his hakama, took a hard swallow and whispered, “It’s never ending. It just doesn’t end. This one… I, ah… I just miss you so much, Tomoe, my love. If you were here, I could handle this. But I’m alone, all alone and it’s so heavy, this burden…”

He inhaled sharply, then let it out.

“Tomoe, I love you. Please! Please… I’m so sorry.”

And the thread holding him upright broke.

He fell down into a deep begging bow; forehead on the ground, hands curled close to his body, seeing nothing, just smelling the cold earth and dirt of her grave. The weight on his chest was overpowering, but he couldn’t cry.

There were simply no tears left in him.

Only emptiness.

 

* * *

 

“You have been very withdrawn lately, far more so than usual.”

Kenshin glanced up at Katsura-san walking beside him, then frowned. His leader looked exhausted. There was a notable slouch in his posture and shadows ringed his eyes. Kenshin had never seen him looking so tired and worn out.

But then again, they all were.

“This one… is tired of killing,” Kenshin admitted. “The revolution seemed so plausible, so near to success last summer, but now – it’s as if nothing even happened, or so it seems.”

Katsura-san sighed tiredly. “The situation is very difficult, and I can understand your weariness. Yoshinobu took us all by surprise, proving to be a crafty and capable leader. However, not everyone is supporting his reforms. Even among Bakufu loyalists, there is resistance.”

“So there is hope, then?” Kenshin asked.

“Yes and no.” Katsura-san shook his head mutely. “The government is nearly bankrupt and the Westerners are upping the pressure. Even the most ignorant are starting to realize that we need to stand united against them. However, many see our rebellion as weakening the country. Even worse, now one of our staunchest allies, Emperor Komei himself, seems to be leaning towards supporting the Shogun’s reforms.”

Those words felt like nothing less than a prophecy foretelling doom, and Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat, his veins flooding with horror. “Then this all will have been for nothing.”

Katsura-san didn’t answer. His left fist clenched in a white-knuckled fist, his ki moving in dangerous currents.

Silence fell between them.

They walked through the quiet, shadow-cast streets, heading to a safe-house where Katsura-san had been staying for a week. The cold had driven most city-dwellers indoors this late at night. The New Year had been just two weeks ago and for the first time in weeks, Kenshin had been called to escort Katsura-san to a heated council with Satsuma leadership. It seemed that among everything else that was going wrong, there had been multiple incidents of infighting among the rebels. No matter how they tried to get their samurai to collaborate on assignments, it was becoming obvious that Satsuma and Choshuu men didn’t mix well.

They needed to stand together, everyone knew it.

Getting the lower ranks used to one another and unite against a common enemy seemed a great idea in theory, very nice and encouraging for their shared agenda. However, in practice… demanding cooperation from bitter enemies wasn’t easy. So for now, it had been agreed that the Choshuu and Satsuma ranks would be kept separate.

“Have there been any further problems with Nakamura?” Katsura-san broke the silence.

“O… er… that is, not as such,” Kenshin stammered, looking away in shame. His difficulties with his direct superior hadn’t come to violence again, but the man had been getting bolder with his dislike. For the last couple months, Kenshin’s pay had been late. When everyone else got their stipend, Nakamura had acted surprised that he seemed to have one purse too few with him, and there was nothing to be done, so Kenshin just had to wait…

On top of that, Nakamura had developed a habit of hand-picking the most time-consuming tasks for Kenshin, making sure that they always came at the most annoying hours. It was petty mischief, something everyone in the inn noticed. Perhaps, someone else would have protested, or brought the matter up with another, higher ranked rebel, but the fact was that Kenshin was capable of performing the missions and Nakamura was entitled to assign them to him.

So what if he couldn’t manage proper sleep, having to resort to cat-napping whenever he had the slightest opportunity? It wasn’t like Kenshin had managed proper sleep in years, even when given ample opportunity for it. And the pay, well, he hadn’t cared about money for quite some time. He didn’t have much else besides work in his life anyhow. He had no friends, no lovers, no family… it wasn’t like anyone was left wanting because his stipend was late or went missing in delivery.

The thing that bothered Kenshin more, was something he had heard from another Choshuu man, Fujiwara-san. Apparently, Nakamura had been telling some higher-ups that Battousai was insane, his bloodlust making him uncontrollable. It was hardly the first time such rumors had been said about him, but lately, Kenshin had heard similar talk about Hitokiri Shishio. And if their own were talking about manslayers as men driven insane by bloodlust, so that they became nothing but mad dogs that needed to be put down…

Could it mean that he, and any other manslayer – men doing the most thankless job among the rebels – were in danger from their own?

The thought was unsettling.

It certainly didn’t help Kenshin’s peace of mind that those rumors had caused some of the newer men transferred into Nakamura’s unit to avoid him.

True, there were still some of the old crew left at the inn, men from Ito-san’s time. Fujiwara-san was one of them. However, Nakamura had been making sure that all the new guys in their unit came from diverse circumstances and home domains. So far they had guys from Tosa, Bizen, and two from Setsu. These men had only heard of Hitokiri Battousai as a fearsome demon, not as a rebel fighting for Choshuu’s freedom. So perhaps, it was understandable that they were wary of him.

And it wasn’t like it was a big thing. Kenshin wasn’t one to socialize; he much preferred to be left alone. However, he didn’t particularly like to be treated like he was an insane murderer that one needed to be extra careful of. It reminded him too much of the early days.

Shaking his head, Kenshin focused on the matter at hand.

Katsura-san was looking at him strangely, a glimmer of concern in his gaze.

“…There are rumors.” Kenshin said slowly, hiding his eyes with his long bangs. “They say hitokiri should be brought down after they run out of their usefulness.” He hated to bring this matter up with Katsura-san. He knew how much Katsura-san valued him, but at the same time, he wasn’t particularly liked among the Ishin Shishi, or even all that sane anymore. He just… he just needed to know.

The ki beside him stilled, becoming cold as ice.

Shocked by the reaction, Kenshin glanced up out of the corner of his eye.

Katsura-san’s gaze had turned cool, his lips drawn white. “Kenshin,” he said. “If there comes a day when you feel like you cannot do this anymore… come to me.”

Kenshin looked aside.

So, it was true.

 

* * *

 

A fortnight later, Emperor Komei died suddenly.

The young prince Mutsuhito was only fourteen years old when he was chosen to ascend to the divine throne as Emperor Meiji.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 23.09.2016.


	8. No, thanks. I don’t want any friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Kenshin’s routine takes a sharp turn… right.

# Chapter 37 – No, thanks. I don’t want any friends

Kenshin woke up late that afternoon. The night had been a long one, one job after another past sunrise, and he’d only snatched a scant few hours of sleep. His muscles ached with the familiar burn of ki overuse, but his headache had lessened to a fraction of what it had been: a mere steady throbbing between his eyes, like being constantly patted with a brush made of needles.

Quite honestly, he was exhausted.

So he scrounged up a cold meal: rice and breakfast leftovers from the kitchens. It wasn’t a common dining time, but the maids had grown used to his unpredictable routines, seeing him constantly coming from and going to work, and they left him alone without comment. He was thankful for it. While his little aches and pains were the one constant in his life and reminded him that he could still feel something, he didn’t think he could endure even well-meant curiosity right now.

It was odd, though. He’d swear that the amount of time he could use internal ki-enhancement before the headache struck and his muscles started burning had been growing shorter. His recovery seemed to be taking longer, too. He hadn’t tried to measure it, hadn’t put down numbers and compared them – he didn’t have the time between jobs for such things – but it was puzzling. Shouldn’t ki become easier to use the more accustomed he became to it? At least, that was how it had worked with all other forms of training: the more he practised, the easier it became.

Or could it be that he was just imagining it and jumping at shadows?

However, when it came to muscle aches, a while ago he had discovered a nice way to ease them. The inn he stayed at had a large, outdoor bathhouse, as was customary for such establishments. A good long soak in the warm water was the best for afternoons like these. At least, when he had time to spare for such frivolities.

Kenshin grabbed a change of clothing and headed to the backyard.

The large bathtub was kept warm throughout the day and it was free for use by all inn patrons. However, he never had to worry about having company. The rest of the men had noted his habits and left him alone. The few older comrades out of respect for his preferences, the newer men out of fear. Kenshin didn’t _like_ being feared, but considering how difficult it would be to go against Nakamura’s rumor-mongering… perhaps it was better like this. More restful, if nothing else.

After a fast scrub in the washroom, Kenshin moved to the bath and slowly eased himself into the warm water.

_Ah._

It truly felt nice.

It was autumn now, late in the eight month. After a long, difficult year, the rebellion was finally gaining some momentum. Since Emperor Komei’s death and the young crown-prince Mutsuhito’s ascent to become Emperor Meiji half a year ago, the Ishin Shishi had worked tooth and nail to regain the influence they had lost, and now the power balance was becoming more evenly split. Katsura-san, Saigo-san and Okubo-san were working together, a trio of political powerhouses against the tide of resistance, though Sakamoto-san’s presence was often needed to help keep their volatile tempers in check. The Choshuu and Satsuma alliance was gaining strength; in the number of fighters, Western weaponry, as well as the political influence they could garner.

Kenshin had been working hard, too. Sometimes he would accompany Katsura-san to meetings in a mostly decorative role, but sometimes Katsura-san’s safety was threatened and his presence became paramount. When Katsura-san didn’t need him, he worked with the rest of the men in his unit, defending them or covering weapons shipments that were smuggled to the town. Essentially, wherever Hitokiri Battousai’s skills were needed, Kenshin went without complaint.

The harsh work had forced him to become more efficient with his swordsmanship. He only used the ki enhancement trick in short bursts, whenever he needed to cut through men in droves. Killing was easy, almost like a reflex. He didn’t have to think about it anymore. Everyone in his path was just one target after another.

In a way, it was a good thing.

He could kill dispassionately, considering only the fastest methods. He still offered his opponents a chance to flee, but if they didn’t take it… well, they died. He couldn’t even remember the last time killing had been difficult, or required him to consider anything besides the armor or defenses of his target.

On some level, it was horrifying to be _numb_ like this.

Yet it was the only way he could still serve. Kenshin had sworn he would see the revolution through, and without _her_ strength to remind him of better days, her wisdom to question his methods and logic, it was better to be like this. Only when the madness of revolution was over could he leave this wretched way of living behind.

Sometimes, in his better moments, Kenshin wondered what he would do after the war, when he didn’t need to kill people anymore. He had no idea how to ensure his livelihood, but it would be wonderful to be no one again. He wouldn’t need to fear recognition from strangers on the street, or be constantly on the lookout for enemies. He could just be a man and help people, no questions asked.

An enthusiastic voice pulled Kenshin out of his musings. “But you cannot fathom her beauty! She was as delicate and elegant as the most regal Oiran, but she didn’t need rich make-up or dress to stand out from the crowd! With mere flowers on her arms, her long hair pinned up with a simple ornament, bangs shading her face… she held mystery and allure, far more tempting than anyone I have ever seen. I was allowed only a glimpse of her fey face, but her eyes were like jewels and her lips just begged to be kissed. Ah, I must see her again!”

“Makoto, please…” a low, rumbling voice groaned. “Just allow me a moment’s peace and quiet, will you? You have been blabbering about this mysterious beauty of yours for days now.”

Somewhat dazed, Kenshin blinked in befuddlement. Had his ki sense become so frayed that he didn’t notice people until they were close enough that he could hear their voices? Or was he simply too tired to pay attention? He rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to shake off his sleepy relaxation and then, concentrated on the flickers of presence nearing him. Yes, _there_ they were. Both were just fairly unremarkable and easy to ignore.

He sighed in relief… until an innocuous sound made him stiffen with shock, his eyes snapping wide open. In the room next to his, a door slid open. A pair of footsteps creaked on the floor. Clothes rustled, swords were put down, followed by splashing…

Oh gods, those two strangers were coming to bathe?

Now?

But why? Didn’t they know that he was in here? This was his time to relax! He still hurt and if he left the hot water now, his jarring muscle aches would come back with ferocity, Kenshin knew they would.

But maybe, if they saw him, they would skip a soak and leave him alone?  

Or should he call out to them and let them know he was here? Surely they would leave him alone if he did so?

However, before he could gather his wits enough to shout, the cheery voice declared. “Alright, Hideyoshi. Are you happy now? I was quiet for two whole minutes! Surely that’s enough silence to satisfy you, huh?”

The lower voice laughed. “I’m amazed you lasted that long, Makoto.”

“Hmmph! I only did it because you asked so nicely! But really, don’t you think there’s something fishy about us being assigned here? So many rebels, but all of them ronins from different provinces – that can’t be a coincidence. And that Nakamura fellow, the weasel, he had such a sneaky look on his face when he introduced us.”

“Nakamura has issues, that’s as plain as day, and before you ask, no – I didn’t much care for him either. The rest, well, the men seem nice enough. But, um… Older. More experienced.” The voice paused. “I don’t think we have much in common with them, you know?”

“I hear you.” The cheery one agreed. “It has to be a conspiracy! All the guys are so ooold, like, over thirty, and we all come from different provinces… I mean, I guess there’s some logic to sticking all the oddballs together, but one would assume there would be more Choshuu men. I talked a bit with that Fujiwara and he said that–“

The door between the washroom and bath slid open. Kenshin tensed and looked aside, slouching a bit more, so that he was chin deep in the tub. He really, really didn’t want to face other people right now.

However, unlike the surprised gasps he was expecting, the cheery voice only fumbled for a second, before starting again, “Oh, hi! Sorry to disturb you! I didn’t realize there was anyone else here this early! I don’t think we have met. I’m Komatsu Makoto, a new recruit – nice to meet you! And please, just call me Makoto! I cannot handle stiff formality at all!”

 _There’s no way to ignore these guys out of existence, is there?_ Kenshin groaned softly and opened his eyes, glancing at the newcomers.

The overly cheery, chirpy one was a slender, tall young man with long, sleek hair and an eager smile. Next to him stood a tall, broad-shouldered youth, who was build like a mountain. He resembled Master a bit, at least what Kenshin imagined Master had looked like at that age. Expression-wise, too. He was looking at Kenshin with a distinct frown.

The chirpy one didn’t seem register the tenseness of the moment at all. Nor did he stop to wait for an introduction or an invitation before he climbed into the large, communal bathtub without a by your leave. He settled across Kenshin with a happy, contented smile on his face.

The other youth followed him.

Kenshin couldn’t help but to stare at the pair in stunned silence. These guys, didn’t they recognize him? How new were they? And where they were from, straight from the backwoods, that neither of them spared a single glance at his scar? His hair drew their gazes, but not long enough to be considered rude and neither seemed to be wary of his presence.

“Um…” The broad-shouldered youth cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m Asano Hideyoshi. Please, call me Hideyoshi. Nice to meet you...?” He smiled, and motioned towards Kenshin, clearly expecting a reply.

Kenshin avoided their gazes, but mumbled awkwardly, “O… er, Himura. Himura Kenshin, that I am.” In half-veiled panic, he wondered if he should just abandon the nice, warm bath and escape from this mess.

“Nice to see there are others our age in this unit! I was already losing hope.” The cheery one interrupted his fretting before he could make up his mind. “But I just gotta ask… Kenshin? Is it alright if I call you Kenshin? Anyways, do you have a sister? Because I swear you look exactly like my latest crush and if you know her, maybe you could introduce me to her? I’m not a stalker, believe me! She was just so beautiful the other day, wearing that purple kimono and carrying flowers on her arm…“

The clues connected and Kenshin nearly bit his tongue in surprise. _Ack!_ Heat rushed to his face and he covered his face with his hands.

“Ah, so you know her!” Chirpy moved closer to him, like a dog after a bone. “But I guess I’m not the only one after her attention. Please, tell me about her! At least her name!”  

Why was there never a deep hole in the earth nearby when he needed a place to hide? And why hadn’t he left when he had the chance? Kenshin all but whimpered. “Er… this unworthy one doesn’t have a sister, that he doesn’t.”

“Makoto, knock it off! Can’t you see you are bothering Himura-san?”

“Awh, man… Hideyoshi!” Chirpy started to whine, but then gave up with an exaggerated, disappointed sigh. “But alright. I guess it’s not polite.”

“It isn’t.” Hideyoshi said decisively. “Though Himura-san, if you don’t mind me asking – how come we haven’t seen you before? I mean, we are new, but we have been here for a couple days already.” His voice was low and pleasant to listen to. It was exactly the sort of masculine voice that as a boy, Kenshin had occasionally fantasized about having when he grew up. Not to be, of course.

Kenshin glanced up between his lashes, only to see a pair of curious gazes directed at him. So despite his wariness, he found himself answering the direct question. “Ah, well – that is to say, this one works often, that he does. Long nights and irregular schedules.”

“That explains it,” Hideyoshi nodded. “So, have you been with the rebels long?”

“O-er, it’s been now, ah… four years?”

“Woah! That’s a long time!” Makoto chirped. “And you can’t be much older than we are! I mean, I turned twenty a while ago and it still wasn’t easy for me to get recruited to the Ishin Shishi. Those stuck-up bastards back in my province didn’t want to give me a chance to prove my worth. You must be really talented! And if I may say so… you have absolutely wicked scars. Where is that one from?”

Kenshin hadn’t _ever_ met anyone as talkative and outgoing as Chirpy was. Whenever Makoto opened his mouth, sentences just flowed out one after another and he had such energy that it was difficult to keep up with him. Confused, and off-balance, Kenshin glanced down at his chest where Makoto was pointing.

_Oh, that scar…_

It was a recent one, but not bad as far as wounds went. Just a tiny slash when Kenshin had gotten careless. “It was a retreat from a Shinsengumi raid, so it was.”

“You’ve fought against the Mibu wolves? That’s great!” Chirpy enthused, before hastily correcting himself, “Oh, right – four years, of course you have. How about that scar on your face? I mean, that’s huge. And on your cheek, too! Eating while that one was healing must have been awful. Did it pierce fully through?” Makoto inquired, his honey brown eyes shining with glee and he leaned _right_ into Kenshin’s personal space.

Shivers raced down Kenshin’s spine and suddenly, it felt like a thousand bugs were crawling on his skin. The feeling of revulsion was so strong that Kenshin shuddered, his back hitting the edge of the bathtub, trapping him. There was no escape. Unconsciously, he curled in a bit, trying to make himself smaller, but it didn’t help. His breath grew harsher and it felt like there was a heavy, oppressive weight on his chest, blocking him from inhaling enough air. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow, and then – the memories poured forth.

The cross scar. Kiyosato’s last, desperate attack… crossed with _hers_.

Eyes blown wide open, Kenshin gasped, his pulse racing in a wild, staccato beat as the dying gurgles of that young samurai filled his ears. The boy had so desperately wanted to live that he hadn’t realize he was already dead. Kenshin’s fingers tingled with the weight of his sword, reminding him of how he had stabbed through the boy’s vertebrae and twisted the blade just so, severing his spine. The voices changed pitch, becoming softer. The dying gurgles became softer, but all the more heart-breaking. He knew this voice. It was the same voice that he had heard moaning in delight and letting out a little throaty gasp when she had gotten tired of his teasing… but now she couldn’t get enough breath. She wheezed and hacked up gunk from her lungs, fighting for air. Oh gods. She was _drowning_ in blood.

Her blood was all over, soaking his clothes, trickling down his hands and overpowering the white-plum scent she had so loved. And then, then her tanto cut into his cheek, so gently…

And then, only silence.

She was dead.

She was dead in his arms and it was all his fault.

 _Everything_ was his fault.

“Shit! Makoto, back off!” A voice commanded, and a large shape appeared in front of him, demanding his attention. Not touching, not hurting him – simply speaking. “Easy there.” The voice told him. “Take a deep breath and calm down, Himura-san. Makoto didn’t mean it badly.”

But all Kenshin could see was a _stranger_ in front of him, blocking his exit.

He had to get away.

NOW!

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Kenshin didn’t get a chance to settle down after the disaster in the furo. He barely managed to put on dry clothes before a messenger came in, asking him to leave to guard Katsura-san. So he just grit his teeth and ignored his exhaustion the best he could, went back upstairs to change into his formal wear, grabbed a hat to cover his hair, and slipped out of the inn’s backdoor. He sneaked through side-alleys to Katsura-san’s current residence, picking a convoluted route just in case he was being followed.

And then, once more endured a couple hour’s worth of pure, mind-numbing drudgery.

Katsura-san noticed his harried state at first glance, but didn’t say anything about it... until after the meeting.

“Kenshin, is something wrong? Is Nakamura causing trouble?”

He just shook his head no, trying to pass it off. While he had his issues with Nakamura, he had them fairly well under control. It wasn’t about that. It was just the amount of work, the odd hours, and everything piling up. The thing was, Kenshin was well aware that he had issues. He could hardly sleep anymore, he had trouble eating – he had lost weight again, which was becoming a constant nuisance. But really, he could handle this. He could. He had just been surprised and thrown off balance this morning, that’s all.

Thankfully, Katsura-san left it at that.

However, if there had been one good thing about the meeting, it had been boring enough for Kenshin to just sit there and think through the events of the morning. But no matter how he looked at it, experiencing a memory as vividly as he had in the furo and then _panicking_ because of it, had been decidedly odd. It hadn’t been a living memory, not exactly. He’d had those, and though Kiyosato and _her_ death had sprung up all of a sudden, it hadn’t been about his memories alone. It hadn’t been about the shame and guilt he felt, either. No, it had been something else, something stranger. He didn’t know how to explain it, but it had been unsettling and odd. Even frightening.

Well, it wasn’t likely to happen again.

No matter how new those two recruits were, they had seen his scar, his hair, and witnessed him behaving like a madman. They would ask around and find out that he was Hitokiri Battousai and then, they would join ranks with the other newcomers in their unit, staring at him, whispering behind his back and telling everyone how crazy he truly was.

Most likely that would only serve to fan the flames behind the rumors that Hitokiri were mad dogs.

Kenshin truly, truly didn’t want to think about those rumors.

Just a few months ago, there had been an incident where a Shinsengumi manslayer, Udou Jineh, had lost it and in the heat of the moment, had tried to kill someone in his own unit. His own men had tried to hunt him down for weeks afterwards.

Shit like that was happening on both sides now, among both the rebel ranks and the Bakufu forces.

There had been nasty talk about Choshuu’s hitokiri, Shishio, too, about how he was needlessly cruel and seemed to delight in drawing out his kills.

Kenshin knew he was protected by Katsura-san’s regard and high position among the rebels, but it was possible that someone would try to undermine Katsura-san by attacking the people connected to him, and among those, Kenshin was a relatively easy target. As the shadow war spread, not all were looking favorably on the most influential of the Shishi. More and more people were looking for chances to advance that the revolution offered, no matter the consequences.

It was just before dinnertime when Kenshin got back to the inn. A rarity – it wasn’t often that he was around to join to the common meal. Not that he particularly enjoyed being forced to endure the other men's presence. So he found his seat at the end of the long table, in his lonely corner, and tried to gag down the bland food the best he could. He had absolutely no appetite these days. He had gotten through maybe a third of his dinner, before his attempts to keep eating were reduced to idly pushing morsels around his bowl in distaste.

A pair of ki presences approached him, startling him out of his morose thoughts. It was the mountain of a youth, Hideyoshi, trailed by a notably awkward Makoto.

Setting down his chopsticks, Kenshin straightened his back and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Himura-san, Makoto here wants to say something to you.” Hideyoshi addressed him in a low, quiet tone. Yet despite his careful manner, many men in the dining room glanced in their direction, undoubtedly waiting for a spectacle.

Kenshin wanted to grit his teeth. Why was everything he did of such interest to everyone?

However, Makoto didn’t seem to notice they had just grabbed every man in the room’s attention. The lanky youth shuffled his feet, before bowing all of a sudden and declaring, “I’m sorry for earlier!”

_…What?_

Kenshin gaped, thoroughly surprised.

No one apologized to him. At least, not with such _sincerity_.

He could have understood them doing a stunt like this out of fear, wanting to deflate his non-existent ire. But this, this felt more like a person apologizing for behaving rudely, for offering an insult that wasn’t intended…

As if for them, he was not just a legend to be wary of, but a _person_.

It was strange.

But somehow, it felt nice? A wave of warmth spread through Kenshin’s chest and he looked down at his tray, trying to find something appropriate to say.

The situation in the furo had been odd, but it hadn’t been Makoto’s fault, not really. The youth had merely been enthusiastic in his curiosity and had gotten a bit too pushy, making Kenshin feel like he was trapped. The question about his scar had just set things off for him in the worst way possible, bringing bad memories to the surface and causing him to freak out.

“It wasn’t Makoto-san’s fault, that it wasn’t. No apology is needed.” Kenshin murmured. Giving a mournful glance at his half-eaten meal, he grabbed his katana and rose to leave. There was no chance in hell he could manage to finish eating, not now.

He’d barely walked twenty feet out of the dining room, when he realized the awkward pair was following him. Why? Hadn’t they already gotten what they wanted? For god’s sake, what else could they need from him? Stopping on his heels, Kenshin turned around and raised an eyebrow expectantly – inviting them to say their piece and be done with it.

“Himura-san…” Hideyoshi started.

Just a few step behind him, Makoto shuffled his feet, notably uncertain... and yes, there it was: a hint of fear.

Suddenly Kenshin felt unexplainably tired of it all. He was exhausted. The day had been awful from start to finish and it wouldn’t be getting any better. Knowing Nakamura’s habits, he only had a couple hours to catnap before the bastard would be calling him to work for the rest of the night. So he sighed tiredly and looked away. “Don’t you two know that this unworthy one is the killer, the murderous Hitokiri Battousai?”

“Yes.”

Kenshin glanced up in surprise.

Hideyoshi met his incredulous stare with a solemn nod, not a wisp of fear in his eyes.

_Huh?_

“I knew who you were the moment I saw you,” Hideyoshi confessed ruefully and motioned to his friend. “This dolt here didn’t figure it out until after you had dashed away.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Hideyoshi!” Makoto protested. “I noticed! I did! I just didn’t have time to think about some boring rumors about hitokiri and whatnot because I was too busy thinking about…”

“Shut up, Makoto.” Hideyoshi cut him off with an exasperated smile.

The teasing, the way these two talked to each other, the clear connection they shared, Kenshin almost envied it. For all their differences, Hideyoshi and Makoto seemed to be attached at the hip. But what business did they have with him? They had apologized, what else could they possibly want? “Ah, um, that’s to say, if you two know… then why are you following this unworthy one?”

“Honestly?” Hideyoshi shrugged helplessly. “You look like you need a friend. Besides, it would be nice to have someone our age to spend time with. It gets old being the only one putting up with Makoto’s antics, if you get what I mean.” The mountain of a youth smiled and took a step forward. “Also you know the ropes around here, so there’s plenty we could learn from you.”

Kenshin took half a step backwards, stunned and almost intimidated. Hideyoshi and Makoto wanted to befriend him? Even knowing who he was? What the hell was _wrong_ with these guys? He hadn’t had a friend in… well, ever! Not except for a few short encounters and those hardly counted. He didn’t know how to be friends with anyone! The last person who had gotten close to him was _her,_ and look how that had ended!

 _No, no…_ “No!” Kenshin gasped.

He caused death and destruction to everyone around him. Everyone he had ever cared for had been hurt for being close to him, one way or another.

Hideyoshi looked concerned, but he didn’t come any closer. He merely raised his hands in a placating gesture. “ _No_ because you don’t want to spend time with us? Or _no_ because of something else?”

“…uh. Um. This unworthy one – he just can’t. That’s all.”

“You know, for someone who wants to be left alone, you don’t seem very sure.”

“O-er… Oh,” Kenshin stammered, fighting to find the words, but failing miserably. He shook his head and looked up to meet Hideyoshi’s knowing eyes and easy, inviting smile.

“You’re so cute!” And then Makoto was right in front of Kenshin, leaning into his personal space. He was so close that Kenshin couldn’t see anything but his honey brown eyes. All of sudden, they widened in recognition. “It was you!”

Makoto spun around. “Hideyoshi!” He pointed at Kenshin and shouted excitedly, “He didn’t lie! He doesn’t have a sister, it was him all along! Himura is the beauty I have been crushing on for the last few days! I cannot forget those eyes!

“Huh?” Hideyoshi blinked in disbelief.

 _Ugh, this can’t be happening. It simply isn’t possible. There’s no way..._ Kenshin looked aside, a mortified blush rising to his cheeks.

“Himura-san… in a purple kimono, hair done high, carrying a bucket of irises?”

“Yes! It had to be him!” Makoto waved his hands, gesticulating with enthusiasm. “This is absolutely perfect!”

Kenshin froze. _Perfect? In what way?_

“Now I can admire him all day long and it will be much easier to convince him to accept my affections!”

 

* * *

 

Kenshin had no idea how it had happened, but somehow he had gotten a pair of persistent tagalongs. Whenever he was at the inn and had any free time, Hideyoshi and Makoto glued themselves to his side. They would sit close to him and just be _there_. Whenever Chirpy would get too enthusiastic, Hideyoshi would stop him and pull him out of Kenshin’s personal space, but otherwise, the pair would be there, chattering non-stop.

The did nothing but talk, talk, talk.

It was _bizarre_.

No matter how rude he tried to be, Kenshin just couldn’t get them to leave him alone.

And the worst part?

It hadn’t taken them long to notice that Kenshin had a bad habit of answering direct questions. The duo took eager advantage of this fact and drew Kenshin into their conversations by asking him questions and then _waiting_ for him to answer them.

And Makoto?

The honey eyed youth was _scary_. Enthusiastic, talkative, easy with his affections and for god knows what reason, he had developed a frightening admiration for Kenshin. Due to his antics, Kenshin was constantly off-balance, embarrassed, and at times, downright mortified. However, for some reason, Makoto’s regard didn’t feel disgusting to him.

Well, unless Chirpy went too far into his personal space.

Kenshin couldn’t say why that was. Maybe it was because Makoto was so ridiculous? It was hard to feel threatened by a lanky youth who declared his feelings loudly, for anyone to hear, and after getting rejected, acted like his heart was broken, only to try again half an hour later. The whole thing was so over the top that Kenshin didn’t have the faintest idea what to make of it.

Why didn’t Makoto care at all if his crush was a man or a woman?

Why was he so insistent despite constant rejection?

Kenshin didn’t understand it at all.

He didn’t seek affection from anyone. He couldn’t stand the very thought of becoming intimate with anyone and he made it obvious, but Makoto was – just as his name said – sincere.

It was just odd.

But even odder, he didn’t feel quite as numb anymore.

His work was horrifying. Kenshin hated every minute of it. Eating was a chore. Sleeping was difficult even on the best night. He was constantly hurting, either from a headache or muscle pains or both at once. The only thing that had changed was that he wasn’t as alone as he had been. He couldn’t say he particularly enjoyed Hideyoshi and Makoto’s company, or understood why they insisted on talking to him. Most of the time he felt like an awkward third wheel in their well-balanced, solid friendship.

And yet, they didn’t give up.

A day after a day, they kept trying to draw him in.

“…What I don’t get at all is how you are working every night, but the rest of us only work maybe four or five nights a week.” Makoto was pattering on at rapid speed. “It’s very unfair! I want to fight too! That’s why I joined, you see? I want to fight the Wolves of Mibu and defeat their legendary swordsmen in duels and gain fame and all that. I trained in swordsmanship for years, struggled to gain approval from my family – not that they would ever give it to me. It was always: Makoto, shut up! Makoto, calm down! Makoto, can’t you take life seriously and behave like a son of a well-to-do samurai household ought to? Blegh! No wonder I got fed up with it and left. And just for your information, I can behave perfectly well when I need to, it's just that most of the time there’s simply no point in-“

“Yes, yes,” Hideyoshi let out a long-suffering sigh. “You are a perfect angel when you want to be, I know. But you do have a point there.” He paused and turned to Kenshin, a thoughtful frown on his brow. “Himura-san, why are you working all the time? I get that your skills are unique, but most of those jobs seem like something any one of us could do. If not alone, then as a group.”  

Kenshin pressed his face into the crook of his arm, avoiding their gazes. He was sitting against the wall, cradling his sword against his shoulder, just as he was used to doing. In the beginning it had been a way to stay alert for every danger, but nowadays, it was just comforting to have his sword in his arms. It was also the pose he used to take his catnaps, something that was practically impossible with Hideyoshi sitting on his right, Makoto on his left, and both of them far too curious and friendly for their own good.

Gods, he was so tired. But there was simply no peace to be found at the inn these days.

The silence stretched on.

Kenshin groaned tiredly, finally giving in and muttering a reply. “Nakamura-san has a slight grudge against this unworthy one, that he has.”

“A grudge? What for?” Hideyoshi asked, befuddled. “The way I understand it, you are his best man.”

“O-er… this one might have dropped Nakamura-san into a river once.” That was only a small part of it, but it was something Kenshin could freely admit and it did explain the matter somewhat. He wasn’t about to tell the rest, though. It was shameful for him and Nakamura-san both. Besides, Hideyoshi and Makoto were a talkative bunch and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t share the tidbits they fished out of him with the rebel’s rumor mill.

“You really dunked the weasel face? Really?” Makoto perked up. “Oh man, I wish I could have seen that! That’s practically perfect!”

Kenshin glanced up between his lashes, noting how Makoto’s eyes shone with glee and a huge grin overtook his lips.

However, a moment later, Chirpy’s expressive face descended into a frown. “I guess that’s why the weasel targets you like that,” Makoto muttered. “Anyways, enough of him. Say, Himura – what do our people do with their free time? I mean, it’s the capital! There must be plenty of things to do. We’ve been here for a week now, but most of the time everyone stays here. I guess old people can be boring like that, but Himura, tell me that you go out and have fun sometimes?”

“…This one does visit the town whenever he has the chance, that he does.” Kenshin admitted.

“Oh!” Makoto asked. “So what do you do? Where do you go? The famed Gion? The colorful Shimabara? Where are the best places for gambling, drinking, and finding delightful company for a night?”

 _Ack!_ Kenshin sputtered. Did he really want to explain to Makoto – of all people – that every time he went into town, he visited _her_? Not a chance, not in the eight great hells. So Kenshin thought fast, trying to come up with a suitable distraction on the spot. Distraction. Yes, something, anything that might work. “Um… gambling?”

“You gamble?” Hideyoshi asked in disbelief.

Kenshin hid his face again, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. “O-er… no. This one doesn’t gamble, that he does not.”

“Why not?” Makoto piped in. “It’s fun!”

“…Fun?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t ever tried it! You are so boring!” Makoto whined. “Oh, I know – Hideyoshi, we should take Himura gambling with us and teach him how to unwind! I bet he would be a hilarious drunk! Get this lightweight sloshed and he would smash into everything and slur in that fine archaic speech of his. Oh man, that would be so fun! And even better, his blush would be so cuuute and whenever he stumbles, I could help him up and he would be grateful and then he would realize that I’m not a bad guy at all. Oh, this is such a good idea! And it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to try my luck with dice.”

_...Seriously? What the hell is wrong with this guy?_

_And why can they just leave me alone?_ Kenshin groaned and closed his eyes. It was exhausting to listen to Makoto’s never-ending prattle. But trying to escape would do him no good, either. Wherever he went on the premises, those two followed him.

He _had_ tried.

It was all such nonsense too. It wasn’t like he would go out with them. And even if wanted to go, it wasn’t like he could. Heading into town like a normal youth and daring to drink in public… ugh, it would just invite trouble his way.

Thankfully, Hideyoshi seemed to realize the same thing. “Makoto, while it would be a good idea to encourage Himura-san to relax a little, I doubt we could take the famed Battousai into town and get him drunk. Not only is it stupid, it’s also dangerous. Everyone has heard of Himura-san’s hair and scar.”

“But…” Makoto bit his lip and pouted. “I want to gamble. I miss the thrill of dice. It’s a good idea.”

“It is, but we just can’t go out with Himura-san.” Hideyoshi agreed.

“But there’s no point in going if we can’t take Pretty with us. I want to spend time with him.” Makoto nodded and flashed a quick smile in Kenshin’s direction.

_Pretty?!_

_Where did that come from?_

Kenshin blushed and looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Besides, I don’t know the town very well yet.” Makoto continued. “Neither do you, or need I to remind you how you got us lost the first day here? The only cities you have any familiarity with are Hiroshima and Osaka.”

“I wasn’t saying that we should go without Himura-san!” Hideyoshi protested. “My point is that we cannot go _out._ But you do have dice, don’t you? What if we played here? Besides, I doubt Himura even knows how to play, so we can get started by teaching him the basics.”

“True!” Makoto enthused, and dashed off to his futon and the travel bundle he had stashed beside it.

Kenshin watched him dig through his belongings with a certain bemused resignation. “Doesn’t this unworthy one get any say in this?”

“No.” Hideyoshi shrugged apologetically. “If it were up to you, you would just brood alone in your corner and then work all night.”

Well, it wasn’t like Kenshin could deny that. But gambling? He had never played, but then again, what else was there to do this late in the evening? In a couple hours, there would be work for all of them: guard detail for a meeting, nothing fancy or particularly dangerous, but something they should take seriously.

Normally, he would have tried to relax and quiet himself. It wasn’t “brooding” as Hideyoshi had put it. It was – well, he tried to think of _her_ , to remember the good times they had shared.

Kenshin sighed.

Okay, fine. Maybe it was brooding.

Gambling turned out to involve a pair of dice, throwing them, and guessing if the combined number of pips they showed was an even “Cho” or odd “Han” and laying a wager on the guess. It seemed fairly simple. Kenshin watched Makoto and Hideyoshi play a few rounds against each other. But even though he sort of understood the logic, there was one thing he just couldn’t understand…

“What is the point of the game?”

“To have fun! And of course, there is a certain monetary benefit to depriving Hideyoshi of his pay.” Makoto declared happily, shaking the dice in his hands and throwing them.

“Odds,” Hideyoshi called out.

Not a moment later the dice stopped spinning… and Hideyoshi sighed in a long suffering way.

“But why does Hideyoshi always call it wrong, that is?” Kenshin asked, genuinely baffled.

“He just doesn’t have my luck!” Makoto smiled and held out his hand to Hideyoshi. The defeated youth groaned, but obediently dug into his money pouch for the sum he had just lost. “Say, Pretty – think you’re ready to try your luck against mine? We can make it a three-way game. We all call out the number of the pips and whoever gets the closest wins?”

Kenshin frowned, but after a moment’s consideration, dipped his chin slightly. He was still puzzled. The game didn’t make much sense, but it wasn’t like the bets were large; just three bronze mon per throw, enough for a snack but nothing to cry about. Makoto passed the dice to him eagerly, giving him the chance to throw them. They were simple cubes carved out of bone, unevenly worn and rounded slightly in the corners, the sides marked with ink pips.

Holding them awkwardly in his hand, Kenshin couldn’t help but ask for confirmation, one more time. “So this unworthy one can throw and call out his wager while they are still in the air?”

“Sure,” Makoto confirmed. “In most gambling dens, there would be a dealer making the throw and he would use a covered cup to shake them, but we are among friends here.” He grinned and prompted with his hand. “Go ahead and shake them. I say it will be five and five, even.”

Hideyoshi huffed fondly. “I’ll say three and two, odds.”

As he had seen the others do, Kenshin shook the dice in his cupped hands and then released them. “Three and five, evens.”

The dice rolled on the tatami, slowed…

Turned…

“Three and five, evens.” Hideyoshi said. “That’s pretty amazing luck, Himura-san.”

Makoto stared at the dice, pouting. “That was just beginner’s luck!” He scooped the wagered sum out of his pocket with obvious annoyance and pressed the coins on the tatami mat beside Kenshin. “But let me throw this time!”

Kenshin passed the dice, more bewildered than anything.

“This time…” Makoto rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This time it will definitely be five and two, odds.”

Hideyoshi smiled. “I’ll go for evens this time. Three and one.”

Kenshin wasn’t sure what he was missing here, but when Makoto got his fancy shaking rotation done and released the dice, he called out, “One and one, evens.”

The dice rolled…

And stopped.

“One and one, evens. It’s exact again.” Hideyoshi frowned. “How do you do that?”

“O-er… oh,” Kenshin hesitated, before tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Um, this unworthy one watches the dice and when he sees how they’ll land, one then calls it out. There just doesn’t seem to be much of a point to this game, that there doesn’t.”

“You _see_ how they’ll land?” Makoto gaped, pointing at Kenshin with his finger. His face went through tumultuous expressions: shock, disappointment, anger, and wonderment, before he finally settled on aggression. “That’s it, Pretty! I might like you, but you are not going to beat me on my own turf! I want to do this again with a proper dealer and a cup to hide the dice! Then you’ll have to guess like the rest of us!”

“Makoto…” Hideyoshi hissed, trying to calm down his friend.

A loud, raspy voice interrupted them. “Oh, you boys are playing dice?”

It was Fujiwara-san, one of the few men remaining from the old crew. He had sort of become known as the spokesperson for their unit during the past year, just because he had been there the longest. “That looks amusing! May I join the game?”

Makoto glanced up, his eyes zeroing in on the dice cup Fujiwara-san was holding in his hands. “Of course!” he enthused. “By all means, please – join us!”

And so, now they had three players and a dealer. Hideyoshi volunteered to play the dealer’s role on the spot. Apparently he had lost most of his loose change and didn’t wish to spend more. This suited them all just fine. Hideyoshi was known for his steady temper and most of the men seemed to like him already.

So they played.

In this version of the game, the dealer shook the dice inside the cup blindly, laid it on the ground, and then waited for everyone to make their bets. Then the cup would be removed, and the best guess would win all the money they had wagered on the round. With this method, the sheer unpredictability of the game finally dawned on Kenshin and not being able to see the dice, he was reduced to guessing, too.

And more often than not, he lost.

Time after time, Kenshin’s had to dig into his money pouch. He wasn’t particularly frustrated by that; it wasn’t like the bets were big. However, he could have done without Makoto’s smug pride at having collected the biggest pile of coins. Fujiwara was the steadiest player among them; he would win, only to lose in the next round, never gaining anything. It was a bit strange. Why would anyone play a game without intending to win big? It was like he wanted to play just for the sake of playing.

Kenshin couldn’t quite understand it, but he wasn’t about to give up either. He didn’t find this game particularly fun, not really. Luck was just luck and there was no point relying on it, just wishing for the best. However, a spark of curiosity was rising inside him: was it possible to predict the dice, even when they were covered like that?

When the dice had been out in the open, it had been easy to see how they would land. When fighting, he followed faster movements and predicted them from even subtler cues. Swordsmanship was all about details, after all.

But if he tried, could he predict the dice again?

With this question in his mind, the game suddenly became far more interesting for Kenshin. He began to watch Hideyoshi’s hands, taking note of how he shook them. The dice moving inside the cup made fairly distinct noise. Without thinking twice, Kenshin directed a drop of ki to his ears, just to enhance his hearing enough to follow the noise of the dice, and closed his eyes, trying to visualize their movements.

Large hands shook the bone dice in a steady rhythm, the cubes hit the ceramic walls of the cup, hitting one another, spinning and spinning…

There wasn’t much difference to the dice and their sides, but when he had handled the dice, he had noticed that they were bit unevenly worn. If he remembered right, it was the three pip side that was slightly more rounded, which meant that if he could pin down the difference in sound, he should be able to figure this out.

Yes, that softer clang – it was a bit different, wasn’t it?

The dice spun and spun and then, suddenly the dice hit the tatami mat with an almost ear-splitting smash and the dice rolled to a stop.

The silence was deafening.

Kenshin rubbed his ear, letting go of his internal ki enhancement.

Just in time, because Makoto was eager to take his guess. “This time it will be two and two, even – and Pretty, you are going to lose all your money to me!”

Fujiwara rasped a laugh. “We will see, won’t we? I say it’s going to be three and six, odd.”

“No.” Kenshin said and acting on his suspicion, he took a guess. “It’s three and one, even.”

Hideyoshi lifted the cup and gasped in surprise. “Three and one, even. It’s exact! Himura-san wins.”

“No way! The first exact throw of the game and it goes to Pretty?” Makoto wailed. “My lady luck, why have you betrayed me?!”

A hint of a grin tugged at Kenshin’s lips and he bowed politely, holding out his hand to collect his winnings. Fujiwara-san was an amiable loser, but Makoto pouted and grumbled about it like an unruly child and it made the whole thing feel far better than it should.

Kenshin covered his mouth with his hand, trying to keep from showing his amusement.

Now... could he do it again?

The answer was: yes and no. Even when he kept his ear out for a softer clang from the dice, even the slightest noise from the background was enough to make him lose track of it. However, the more he listened, the more he watched Hideyoshi’s movements, the more accurate he was becoming in his predictions and suddenly, the one with a notable winning streak wasn’t Makoto, but him. The constant ki use was making his ears throb, but it wasn’t enough to make him stop. Not yet, at least.

And there was just something really fun about beating Makoto time after time. Chirpy was so _dramatic_. Every loss he suffered required loud cursing and gesticulation of his disappointment and the show had started to draw an audience. Practically every man in the common room was following their game, some from a modest distance, but some had come to sit close by them.

Without really noticing it, Kenshin had started to grin. Trying to predict the dice was challenging and it was a way of using ki that didn’t hurt anyone. And Makoto… for days, Kenshin had been forced to listen to Makoto’s nonstop prattle, ridiculous flirtation, and endless stream of selfish, unconsciously rude remarks. He’d been about to lose his patience with it, if he was entirely honest with himself.

“Oh lady luck, why? What have I done that you have cast me out of your favor?” Makoto wailed, waving his hands in theatrical despair. “This doesn’t make any sense! I’m good at gambling. Dice have been my friends for years and those are my pair! Why would they favor Pretty? Hideyoshi, it’s unfair! How can I impress Pretty if he beats me at gambling too?”

“Calm down, Makoto.” Hideyoshi snorted dryly. “It’s perfectly normal to lose every once in a while.”

However, the men who had gathered around them to watch the game seemed to think something was off, too, and with traces of ki enhancement lingering in his ears, Kenshin couldn’t help but overhear their whispered comments.

“An exact guess, twice in a row? Hmmph! That’s demon’s luck.”

“Hardly luck at all. It must be witchery of some sort. Notice how Battousai closes his eyes before calling out the dice?”

“You think he cheats?” the first voice questioned, clearly disturbed.

Kenshin froze in surprise. He hadn’t even considered it, but was he cheating?

The thought stirred guilt in the pit of his stomach and all traces of a smile disappeared from his lips. In a way, yes, using ki could be called cheating. After all, he was using a skill the other players didn’t have to get an advantage over them in a game for money. Oh gods… was it stealing too? But he didn’t want their money! He hadn’t even wanted to play in the first place, but he hadn’t even been given the option to say _no_. He had only started to use ki because it brought an interesting challenge to the game and because Makoto had been so goddamn _annoying_.

“What the hell are you saying, guys?” Makoto demanded. “Pretty cheats?”

And suddenly, Makoto crawled right over the game area to stare at Kenshin. He was close, way too close and all Kenshin could see was those honey brown eyes zeroing in on him. “Pretty, say that they are lying. You can’t be using some crazy magic to cheat!”

The silence fell over the room.

“O… er…” Kenshin stammered, eyes wild. “Uh, that’s to say, this unworthy one, well – um, he does try to predict the trajectories, that he does.” He leaned back, pressing against the wall as he unconsciously tried to get some distance between him and Makoto.

“Ha! I knew it!” someone from the crowd declared.

Makoto leaned even closer, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“What the…” Fujiwara-san’s voice rasped out. “Himura-san – how does that work, exactly?”

This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. People didn’t understand ki. Nobody who didn’t use it would able to understand. That was the way it had always been. But right now, everyone in the room was looking at him, all but demanding an explanation, and he had to tell them something. Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with something, anything that he could tell them that didn’t make him sound like an insane madman.

But before he could find the words, Makoto jumped to his feet. “Shut up, all of you! Pretty doesn’t cheat! He doesn’t see the dice. He doesn’t touch them. There’s not a single thing he could do to cheat, is there? It doesn’t matter if he tries to predict the dice – we all do. So what if he has gotten it right a few times? The rest of the time he fails miserably. Actually, speaking of cheating, the only one who has a real chance at it is me because those are my dice!”

People turned to Makoto, staring at him in stunned silence.

Then a man’s raspy laughter filled the room. “Damnit, lad, you almost had me fooled with your theatrics earlier!” Fujiwara-san stood up and patted Makoto on the shoulder. “You’re one showy guy, aren’t you? For a second you got us all convinced there’s some magic being used on dice and we all turned into little boys, afraid of our own shadows. Look at Himura-san – you got our best man shaken up, too.”

And then all the tension in the room melted, just like that. People scoffed, laughed, and a few of them made an old-fashioned warding sign against evil, but none of them wanted to claim there was magic a person might use to influence or predict the dice. After all, the most respected man in the group had implied that it was cowardly to think so.

Fujiwara-san cleared his throat, commanding attention once more. “Alright people! It’s getting late and we got a fair amount of travel ahead of us, to get to the estate we are guarding tonight. So let’s get ready to go! Better to be early, that’s what I always say!”

Kenshin stared at them in confusion. What had just happened? Why had Makoto defended him? And why had Fujiwara-san broken up the commotion like that? Why would they put themselves on the line for him? Why would they care?

He had screwed up, hadn’t he?

“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t be so spooked,” Hideyoshi said to him softly, kneeling beside him. “Makoto can get out of hand sometimes, but he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. And that was quite cool how you managed to turn the game on him and beat him in the end. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

 _…Fun?_ Kenshin frowned. True, at the end he had been having a good time, but…

“This unworthy one, um – he probably did cheat, that he did,” he confessed, looking aside in shame.

“How so?” Hideyoshi asked curiously.

“O-er, o, that’s to say, this one used ki to enhance his hearing and listened to the dice. And your hands, this one watched how you shook the dice and tried to predict the dice’s movements, so he did.”

“Ki? What’s that?”

“It’s energy. Inside people, that it is.” Kenshin stammered awkwardly. “Some people can learn to use it to sense people, to enhance senses, movements and stuff.”

“So let me get this right. You used something that everyone has, but only some people can use… and you are worried it’s cheating?” Hideyoshi paused. “It didn’t seem to be all that easy for you either.”

“…No.” Kenshin admitted.

“Then there you have it.” Hideyoshi decided. “I’ll admit that people will be hesitant to play against you if you win all the time. But when you are gambling with friends, it’s not about winning or losing. It’s about having a good time. Did you enjoy the game?”

Kenshin hesitated. “Um, it was… challenging to predict the dice, so it was. And Makoto-“

“Oh yes, beating Makoto must be pretty awesome.” Hideyoshi laughed. “Sometimes I wish I could do it myself. He can be an annoying bastard when he is on a winning streak. He has no sense of moderation whatsoever. But alas, my friend has been clearing my pockets of spare change since we first met. Anyways, you thought it was fun to predict the dice? And you did it by watching my hands? Would it be harder if I changed the way I shake the cup?”

“...Yes?”

“I’ll do that next time, then. Just to make it a bit more difficult for you,” Hideyoshi decided and rose to his feet.

“O-er…” Kenshin gaped. “Next time?”

“Of course!” Hideyoshi smiled. “Now, let’s get going – we’ve got a job to do!” He headed to pick up his swords, which made Kenshin notice that the room was empty. The rest of the men had packed up and left for downstairs.

Shakily, Kenshin climbed to his feet too.

However, as they headed out into the night, he couldn’t help but note that for the first time in ages, he didn’t feel heartsick, alone or numb, dreading what was to come.

No.

Tonight, he was a just soldier out to do his job, like the rest of the men.

 

* * *

 

A week later, just after midday, Kenshin was eating his leftover breakfast when Makoto approached him alone.

Understandably, Kenshin was wary.

So far the energetic young man had only sought him out to declare his intentions to “woo” him – ugh, the very thought! Or because he wanted to get his attention to – no, scratch that. The only things on Makoto’s mind seemed to be either flirting or annoying him. Where was Hideyoshi? The steady-tempered youth could usually be trusted to keep his friend in line.

“Pretty! Could you-“

_Uh oh…_

Kenshin really, really didn’t want to deal with Makoto’s sad attempts at flirting. Not right now. He had just woken up! So rather rudely, he interrupted, “No. This one isn’t interested, that he isn’t.”

Makoto’s jaw dropped for the briefest of moments, before he shot back, “You don’t even know what I was about to ask!” He leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes. “And why exactly aren’t you interested? Am I unpleasant, or such a bad-looking guy? Huh? Shouldn’t there be _some_ solidarity and friendship between us? I mean, Fujiwara told me that you prefer men too and you even had a mentor before! I know I’m not old and distinguished like some bald wrinkle-face, but I can do absolutely wicked things with my…”

 _God dammit!_ Kenshin gritted his teeth and looked down, hiding his eyes behind his overlong bangs. No matter what he said, there seemed to be no way to get that idiot to believe him. What could he do to get the point across? Short of killing him or threatening him with bodily violence, he had already tried everything! And now Fujiwara-san had gone and told the idiot about the rumors concerning Ito-san and him?

_Gaaaah!_

Better make it simple and clear before he lost the last dregs of his patience. Voice filled with threat, Kenshin hissed, “Makoto-san, this unworthy one is not interested in receiving attention from _anyone._ At all.”

“Huh? From anyone? At all? What the hell is wrong with you?” Makoto burst out in surprise. He took a deep breath, as if getting ready to rant, but before he could start, he swallowed and slapped his cheeks. “No! I’m not going to let you to distract me again! I actually _had_ something important to ask you! Not that seeking your affection isn’t important, but this is… Ah, this is about Hideyoshi.”

 _Huh?_ Kenshin looked up, blinking like an owl.

Makoto, cheery, irreverent _Makoto_ was standing straight as a ramrod, avoiding his gaze, his hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and then, started to babble at a furious pace, “Hideyoshi had his first kill last night and now he won’t talk to me! He doesn’t want to spend any time with me either! I have no idea what to do about it! I mean, I haven’t gotten a chance to kill any Bakufu dogs, so how should I know what to say to him? But then I thought, out of all the people here, Hideyoshi _likes_ you. And you know about killing. I mean, you are practically legendary for your kill count and ice cold temper on the job. So really, there is no one better to tell Hideyoshi to stuff his unnecessary drama and get over it. Besides, I wanted to go out into town today and I don’t want to go alone, so really-“

Kneeling there in growing befuddlement, Kenshin tried to make sense of Makoto’s tirade only to fail miserably.

Could the idiot be referring to the guard gig they’d had last night?

Last night… their unit and two others had been entrusted with guarding an important meeting held between Saigo-san, Katsura-san, and Sakamato-san at the Suzu-ya estate, but Aizu troops had ambushed them. Early on in the fight Kenshin had been drawn away to deal with the Aizu’s manslayer, and it had taken a while to kill his target in the bamboo grove surrounding the estate. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see how the others had managed in their fights, but by all appearances they had done well. The rebels had only suffered five casualties, two dead and three wounded – and not a single one came from his unit.

But still, Hideyoshi had killed someone and taken it badly?

Kenshin frowned, trying to think back. When had his first kill been? It had to have been a long time ago, back when he hadn’t been so numb, when killing hadn’t been easy at all.

The memory nagged at him: the samurai and the burning village, and protecting someone? Kenshin rubbed the heel of his palm between his brows, trying to remember. It had been so long ago. He had been, what – eleven?

About that, yes.

That was… young.

Just how disgusting was he? Even as a child, he had already been a killer!

A hand grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, Pretty! What did you daze out for? I was asking you to…“

Shivers shot down his spine and Kenshin’s eyes snapped open. Makoto, Makoto was touching him! He scrambled backwards, hissing, “Don’t touch me!”

“Alright, alright! Relax, jeez!” Makoto raised his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t touch you.” He grinned. “At least, not until you want me to.”

Kenshin took a deep, steadying breath and swept his hands over his face, hiding his eyes and the embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks. _Gods!_ Was he so broken that a simple touch or someone stepping a bit too close affected him so strongly?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. This was just another crazy thing that happened to him, nothing else.

“What do you want this unworthy one to do, that is?” he asked, sighing in defeat. He didn’t want Makoto to pay attention to his freakish behavior. The chirpy youth didn’t censor a thing and he talked with everyone. The last thing he needed was for his issues to become common knowledge among the rebels.

“I thought you could talk to Hideyoshi, help him get over his drama.” Makoto informed him. “It’s just killing. What’s so special about it? We are fighting in a revolution, aren’t we? Killing should be a given thing for everyone here.”

Listening to that logic, Kenshin didn’t wonder why Hideyoshi didn’t feel like talking to Makoto at the moment, and without really intending to, he inclined his head slightly.

“Oh! That’s great, thanks!” Makoto enthused. “I promise I’ll forgive you for beating me at dice if you fix my best pal for me!” And then, without another thought, he cheerfully skipped away.

_What the hell?_

_Who the hell can say something like that with a straight face?_ And how come that idiot always got under his skin, made him feel so awkward and ill at ease? Kenshin stared after him, completely flummoxed.

But then, the realization struck.

_Oh, fuck no!_

He buried his face in the crook of his arm. He wanted to shout, scream, cry, or, or – shit! He would do anything, anything at all if it just would undo the last two minutes of his life so he wouldn’t have to do what he had apparently just promised.

 

* * *

 

Hideyoshi was in the backyard, sitting on the porch and staring out at a distance. He didn’t look like he wanted company, nor did he seem particularly willing to talk. His ki felt faint, but turbulent, signaling that something dark was stewing in his mind.

Kenshin was familiar with such moods. He felt like that pretty often. But what did he know about talking to people or cheering them up?

Absolutely nothing.

Worse, he had met Hideyoshi less than two weeks ago. He hardly knew anything about him or his circumstances. So what should he say to him? However, even he could see something was wrong with Hideyoshi. That head-in-clouds, morose look… it sat wrong on Hideyoshi’s strong, reliable shoulders.

Maybe there was someone more capable than him to take up this task, but no one knew the new recruits particularly well. The awkward duo had been spending time exclusively with him. Well, more like bothering him to the point of exasperation, but…

He had promised to do this.

And besides, even if Kenshin knew next to nothing about talking to people, he was sure that Makoto was the _least_ capable person there was to help anyone out of this kind of funk. So, he stepped out of the doorway where he had been watching Hideyoshi and sat down about ten feet away from him.

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Kenshin stared at the grass, trying to think of something to say.

Hideyoshi beat him to it. “It’s his expression that bothers me the most,” he said idly, in a low, rumbling tone. “He was winning, you see. Grinning, so sure of victory, and then he looked down, only to see my sword sticking out of his chest. He dropped his katana and tried to grab my blade… I don’t know why. And then, he realized he was dead. He _knew_ there was no coming back. Fear overtook him, and his eyes, they were so _hopeless_.”

 _Ah._ Kenshin closed his eyes and exhaled softly. He knew exactly what Hideyoshi was talking about. He hated that look, too. But in his case, by now his opponents descended into that despair the second they saw his hair, his scar, and heard their comrades whisper the word “Battousai.”

He had nothing to do with his hands. His fingers tingled with a need to channel his nervous energy somehow. His swords were on his sash, a bit too high for a comfortably reach, so he started to play with his wide sleeves instead.

“It doesn’t get easier,” he said at last. “If it does… there is something wrong with you.”

It was the truth.

No one should be able to kill like he did, so cold and numb.

Like it was _easy_.

“Killing people, it’s necessary. For the revolution to succeed, for us to create a new world, our enemies’ lives are a sacrifice for the cause, so they are. But they too are human and we shouldn’t ever forget that.” Kenshin tried to put his jumbled thoughts into words. “Yet swordsmanship is the art of killing. So as long as one fights for one’s beliefs, for a worthy reason… one can learn to bear the pain the sword brings, that one can.”

“I don’t think I can,” Hideyoshi whispered, his voice roughened by anguish.

Curling his shoulders inward, making himself smaller, Kenshin gripped the cloth of his sleeves tighter. Some help he was! He was only making it _worse_.

Hideyoshi struggled to breathe: harsh, powerful inhales and exhales, followed by a broken hiccup.

The silence between them grew tense.

Kenshin felt heartsick just from listening to the other youth battle with his emotions. He shouldn’t have said a thing!

“You know, I was always a failure,” Hideyoshi said roughly. “The fourth son of a merchant, a good-for-nothing spare. My brothers were trained in business, but I didn’t merit anything but basic tutoring. Then, one day, my old man came back from a purchasing trip with a samurai of some sort escorting him. Very distinguished and famous swordsman, he was. Father wanted me to become his apprentice, but just one look from that man and I knew I wouldn’t do. Father never let me forget that. He said that I should have been able to convince him, that I should have easily snatched up that famous swordsman as my teacher and replaced the man’s only student to the post.”

Hideyoshi scoffed, half-angry, half amused. “You know, for years I was really jealous of that kid. I learned swordsmanship just out of spite, I think. I dreamed of hunting down that boy and showing to him that I was just as good as he was.”  

Kenshin didn’t know what to say to that, so he shrugged and picked a loose thread from his sleeve. Stories like Hideyoshi’s were common. Swordsmanship was learned either by apprenticing with a Master, or joining a dojo. Larger towns often had several competing sword schools, but in rural areas it was easier to find one-on-one teaching.

“I guess I fail even in that.” Hideyoshi huffed in a self-deprecating manner. “I kill one man and become a wreck. Maybe my old man was right, saying I was good for nothing.”

That was needlessly critical, Kenshin thought. “This one wouldn’t say that you are a failure. But reasons for fighting… those are important, so they are,” he said softly, for the first time feeling like he actually had something meaningful to say. “The reason why this one could get over his first kill was because no matter how much it hurt, this one knew that it was the right thing to do, that it was.”

Back then, he had killed to _protect_.

It was a good reason. It had been the right thing to do. But looking back on it, if he hadn’t interrupted those samurai…

He frowned.

“…Or so this one thought then,” he added in afterthought.

“What about your first kill?” Hideyoshi asked. “I mean, I first heard rumors of Battousai a couple years ago, but you said you’ve been with Ishin Shishi for four years now.”

“This unworthy one was just an ignorant student at the time, and got into a fight with two samurai, so one did. This one killed them both to protect a girl, but looking back on it… this one probably made her life really difficult with his actions.”

“What was her name?”

Seeing no reason to hide it, Kenshin said softly, “Miya.”

Hideyoshi’s ki dropped from a faint, murky feeling to a freezing coldness. “So now you regret it,” he stated, his voice tense and emotional, almost angry.

Kenshin didn’t wonder why.

Failing like that, making such bad choices – he, too, was angry at himself. It was alright that Hideyoshi had realized what a failure he was. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not protecting her, never that. But the stupidity and unfairness that caused the fight? This one does regret that, so he does.”

The silence stretched between them for a long moment, before Hideyoshi finally broke it. “That boy I felt jealous of? I actually went looking for him. It was the first thing I did after I left Hiroshima. It wasn’t easy to follow rumors of him, but I kept looking and finally found others who had seen him. But when I finally met with him, I couldn’t feel angry or jealous anymore. The boy I had envied for so long had grown up, but he looked _miserable_. Having talent and such a great teacher hadn’t brought him anything good in life and when I saw that, I realized that I could be a better man, and let go of my resentment toward him.”

And then, for whatever reason, Hideyoshi’s ki became warmer. “Thank you for reminding me, Himura-san.”

Kenshin glanced up at Hideyoshi, perplexed by the complete turn in the other youth’s mood.

“And thank you for your wisdom about finding a reason to fight as well. I had almost forgotten, but I had my reasons for joining the revolution as well. I had just gotten lost in my memories and old fears.”

“O-er…” Kenshin gaped.

“You see, I lied about my name to the recruiter.” Hideyoshi smiled. “I’m not a samurai, not adopted into a clan or anything. I’m just a merchant’s son and these folks would look down on me if they knew that. But Makoto swindled me in here with him, insisting that I shouldn’t let a little thing like unfortunate family relations stop me from fighting for a better future. This revolution is about giving equal rights to all of us, to end the nonsense of samurai hereditary rights. It’s archaic, I tell you. Also, there’s this girl I met back in Osaka hunting for rumors,” Hideyoshi winked. “I’d love to go back there a hero and sweep her off her feet.”

Climbing to his feet, Hideyoshi walked over and offered him a hand. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Kenshin glanced at the offered hand warily. He didn’t know what sort of touch was enough to cause that unsettling feeling in him, and he didn’t want to risk it – so he stood up on his own.

Hideyoshi’s smiled faltered slightly.

Realizing his error, Kenshin made an _after you_ motion with his hand, hoping to reassure the other youth.

It perked Hideyoshi right up. “Oh right, little steps. I can do that.”

Why such a little thing could matter so much, Kenshin didn’t understand. To be honest, he didn’t know why Hideyoshi even cared. They weren’t friends. At least, Kenshin didn’t consider them to be friends – he didn’t want to be friends with anyone. It was far easier to be alone than to worry about others.

But after that talk, he felt like he could respect Hideyoshi.

When it came to Makoto, though…

How in the hell could two such a different people be friends in the first place?

They got some food from the kitchen and Hideyoshi was halfway through his tray, when Kenshin finally dared to ask him about it.

“Oh, that idiot has been with me for years,” Hideyoshi said fondly. “We studied swordsmanship at the same dojo back in Hiroshima and we’ve been together ever since, through thick and thin. Besides, if you think Makoto is bad now – imagine him at fifteen!”

Maybe that could explain it in part, but…

An eager shout interrupted his musings. “Pretty! You fixed my buddy! I knew I could trust in your superior knowledge about slashing people to pieces to figure out what was wrong with him! As promised, I’ll forgive you for the dice game and all your general grumpiness!”

 _For god’s sake!_ Kenshin promptly buried his face in the crook of his arm. There were no words for how annoying that chirpy idiot was! _GaaAH_! He wanted to scream, but only managed a faint, muffled, “Orooo.”

And when later that night, Nakamura announced a weapons smuggling gig for three guards, and Makoto volunteered all of them for it…

Kenshin didn’t protest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 25.10.2016.


	9. A night to remember

# Chapter 38 – A night to remember

 

The wind was blowing in gently from the south, carrying with it a hint of sea air and the fragrance of incense. There was a sharpness in the air, the early winter frost stinging his nostrils with each inhale. Yet there was not a hint of white lingering on her grave, nor any other color but that of murky dirt, bereft of life.

“At least it’s better than snow,” Kenshin mused out loud, as had become his habit whenever he visited her. “When spring comes again, this unworthy one will bring you flowers, that he will.”

Her gravestone was a comforting weight against his back and he leaned into it, relishing the tranquil quietness of the graveyard. To his far right, a monk was sweeping the lawn. Other than the monk, there was no one nearby.

The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky.

Kenshin closed his eyes and drew in the cool winter air.

It really was a beautiful morning.

“The new era this one has dreamed about, it’s coming – this time, it really is coming, because the Shogun resigned from his power.” Kenshin paused, trying to put his errant thoughts into words. “But, somehow… it’s odd. Everything is changing. This one knows it to be so. One has been in the meetings, listened to the speeches of the men in power. But when this one walks the streets and listens to the people, it seems like nothing has changed at all.”

When he had first heard of the shogun’s resignation, he had felt elated and hopeful. Now though, after following Katsura-san around and watching the people his leader was still negotiating and arguing with, Kenshin knew it wasn’t that simple.

The formal resignation of Shogun Yoshinobu had left behind a void of power in the higher echelons of the government.The bakufu officials, provincial lords, and Tokugawa family still held significant power behind every decree, law, and decision that was made. Katsura-san was aware of this and was of the opinion that the revolution would not end until the government was remade and the highest level of power restored to the Emperor.

So now, the rebels were trying to push the issue with political leverage.

If it didn’t work, there were rumors that higher-ups in the Ishin Shishi were cajoling for a show of force. There was talk of once more trying to take over the Imperial palace.

Kenshin couldn’t say he was particularly enthusiastic about the idea. He remembered all too well how badly the endeavor had gone last time.

Katsura-san agreed with him, as he – along with Sakamoto-san – was firmly in favor of more peaceful tactics. But the ugly truth was that no one could say how long the politicking would take, and the rebels were getting impatient.

“The last thing this unworthy one wants is more needless bloodshed, but at the same time… it’s terrible to be waiting around for the worst.” Kenshin mused. A moment’s thought flitted through his head and he bit the inside of his cheek, before shaking his head firmly. “No. This one has promised to keep fighting until it is all over, and so he will. Soon, this will all be over and then, this one will be able to leave killing behind him.”

“Not that this one knows what he will do afterward.” The admission tasted sour. “This one remembers the promise he gave to you, that he would find a way to protect the happiness of the common people without killing. But how can he do that? This one knows nothing but the sword and… he is stained and broken. Tired.”

Idly, he picked at his frayed sleeves. He really should buy another kimono. The silly purple one Lady Ikumatsu had gifted him was becoming quite worn out. Still, there was something pleasing about the garment, now that he had grown used to it. Its bright colors differed wildly from those of his work clothing, which alone was enough of a reason for him to like it. But he had also noticed that when he wore this kimono, people didn’t take him seriously, instead treating him like a normal youth out on the streets. Sometimes, the illusion was so great that for a moment even he could forget that he was a bloodstained murderer.

“It was quite difficult to ditch Makoto and Hideyoshi and come here alone, that it was.”

“Those two – this one doesn’t quite know what to think of them, that he doesn’t. They insist on spending time with this one and stick to his side whenever the situation allows it, even at work. Neither of them is afraid of this one, and that… well, that feels good, so it does. Maybe it means this one isn’t quite as fearsome as the rumors paint him out to be?”

Another thought sprung to mind. An embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks but he told her about it anyway. “But really, there is something wrong with Makoto, that there is. There is no other way for a man to be so, so… _deranged_.”

He gnawed on his lip, wondering how to phrase this. She had been a lady, after all. She wouldn’t have approved of Makoto’s vulgarity at all. But at the same time, she had encouraged him to be more open with her about his worries.

“Um, well... last week Makoto attempted to – um, he tried to touch this one again. He has done so often enough that it’s not something to make a fuss about, that it isn’t. But what made this time different was... was that this time it was on this one’s hip.”

And what had made it worse, somehow, was that Makoto had been almost _lazy_ about it.

Maybe that was why it had surprised Kenshin so. He hadn’t expected it. He had simply walked past Makoto, and Chirpy had trailed his hand down Kenshin’s side, to his hip, all the way down to his butt, slowly, as if relishing the touch.

Of course, Kenshin had grown stiff and hissed angry words toward the idiot, but the thing was…

“It was just so odd, so it was. This one knows it was brazen and rude, like an uncouth man touching a cheap yujo in the worst corners of Shimabara. It should have felt disgusting and brought shivers of revulsion to this one’s skin, but… it didn’t.”

He bit his lip, before hastily correcting, “Well, no more than any other touch that the Chirpy idiot has bestowed on this one. It wasn’t that this one liked it, of course he didn’t, but it just didn’t feel any different than someone touching this one on the arm, or shoulder, or back. This one wanted to hate Makoto for it, to be upset about Chirpy’s stupid wandering hands, but this one didn’t, not any more than over the other things the idiot has done.”

Even when spoken out loud, the incident and his feelings about it didn’t make any sense. But…

“Being so close to people, it hasn’t been so bad anymore,” Kenshin admitted. “Casual touches from others at the inn, accidental touches from strangers on the street; those aren’t as off-putting as they used to be. This unworthy one hasn’t had any more panicky spells either. Makoto’s hands wander in this one’s direction so often that this one is getting used to it, to being touched, that he is.”

And as embarrassing as it was to admit, it was the truth.

In a way, it was a good thing.

Even he could see it, because the last time they had played dice, when Fujiwara-san had slapped him on the back to congratulate him for beating Makoto, he hadn’t shied away from the other man’s touch, but rather, had felt good about it. It had felt like he was accepted, like he was just another man in the group, not an insane murderer close to his snapping point that they suffered to exist in their midst.

And sometimes, it seemed like the other men at the inn were starting to see it, too.

“But most often, this one talks to Hideyoshi. He’s an easy person to spend time with. Unlike Chirpy, he doesn’t spout something rude every other sentence, doesn’t try to touch this one or anything of the sort. He is just there. Present. Listening, trying to understand. It’s like, if this unworthy one would want a real friend, Hideyoshi would be the one.”

Kenshin huffed. “Of course, wherever Hideyoshi goes, Makoto follows, so it’s a moot point.”

Also, there was the fact that Kenshin couldn’t understand why Hideyoshi didn’t seem to mind Makoto’s outrageous behavior.

Why didn’t the chirpy idiot’s crazy antics annoy him?

Make him angry?

Or disturbed?  

All of Makoto’s blatant flirting, the lingering glances on all the wrong people of either sex, the rude things Makoto said without pausing to consider who might hear him… Hideyoshi rarely, if ever, reacted to any of it. Even though Kenshin had developed something like a friendship with Hideyoshi, the steady-tempered youth only ever stepped between him and Makoto when Kenshin was starting to get genuinely upset.

_Huh._

Kenshin blinked as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. “Or maybe… Hideyoshi doesn’t think Makoto is harming anyone with his crazy antics, and only stops him when it’s becoming obvious that Makoto has gone too far? That could be it, couldn’t it?”

The thought made him feel slightly better about it. Though he didn’t really understand the motives of the unlikely duo any better now, three months after their first, terribly embarrassing meeting, even he couldn’t deny that they had given him _something_ to come back to after terrible nights at work.

It was really starting to get late, though.

He couldn’t say how long he had been here, keeping her company, but it must have been hours already. He climbed to his stiff feet and swept the dirt off from his kimono.

“Love, this unworthy one will be going now, that he will. Please, know that this one misses you, every day.” He gently stroked her gravestone in farewell. Then he straightened and faced the breeze, enjoying how it swept his long bangs away from his face.

It felt nice. Refreshing.

Sadly, that good feeling didn’t last long. As soon he hit the streets of the city center, he felt that he was being watched. And there was no surprise as to why: again, people were clearly looking at him. No matter what he wore, how he did his hair, or how girlish he looked, people still noticed him. Worse, they remembered him. His eye-catching hair drew their attention and more often than not, their eyes sought out his face, as if looking for a scar.

While he had yet to find the kind of trouble that turned into violence during these little excursions, it was starting to feel like it was only a matter of time before the inevitable disaster struck.

The Battousai rumors weren’t just idle talk or exaggerated fairytales anymore. No, here in the capital, everyone knew that a monster named Hitokiri Battousai prowled the streets. Hair dyed red by the blood of his victims, eyes yellow as a beast’s, sword as fast as lighting, cutting down as many as five people in one stroke – truly, Battousai was worst of the worst, a monster so fearsome that men only saw him when they were slated to die.

For the most part, Kenshin could see where the fantastic description of him had come from. Well, except for the yellow eyes part. That always threw him. His eyes were strange and pale, a sickly shade of blueish... violet? Something like that. It was a color he had seen in summer flowers and sometimes in women’s clothing, but never on people. Strange and disturbing as it was, the color was very different from what rumors claimed. So where had this story drawn its inspiration?

Even Makoto and Hideyoshi had wondered about it more than once, spending quite a bit of time coming up with crazy theories about the legend’s origin. As usual, Makoto’s ideas ranged from silly to ridiculous, like the theory that Kenshin’s _“insane speed”_ had something to do with _magic_ , and that his eyes changed colors depending on if he was using magic or not.

Kenshin had barely managed to hold back a disbelieving snort at that suggestion.

One of Hideyoshi’s theories, however, actually seemed fairly plausible to Kenshin “We mostly work nights and people carry lanterns that cast yellow light, you know? It reflects pretty well on your pale eyes and makes them look almost yellow.”

And that did make sense, didn’t it? Not that he ever carried a mirror to check, but at least it was something that was humanly possible.

It was certainly more realistic than Makoto’s idea that he used magic, or the common rumor that moonlight revealed Battousai’s true form as a demon.

Kenshin sighed softly, trying to prepare for the tirade he would be forced to endure when he got back to the inn. Makoto would definitely start by commenting on his choice of dress and the fact that he had gone out alone…

As if on cue, Makoto’s face peeked out of the inn. “Pretty! What are you wearing!?! Don’t get me wrong, you look cute and all, but, but... it’s not you! You are all fire and delicate lines, danger and beauty in a single package! And your hair! You shouldn’t tie up your hair like that! How about I help you brush it out, make it all better? I would be only too happy to help! It’s such a good idea, isn’t it, pretty? And why did you go out alone? I was so bored, waiting all day here with nothing else to do but annoy Hideyoshi! Besides, I still need to find out what you do when you go out alone wearing that kimono carrying flowers. Could it be… Oh, no, no, you cannot have a woman on the side! Or maybe you are engaged already and that’s why I am not good enough for you – no, don’t tell me it’s like that! It can’t be possible!”

“Calm down, Makoto.” Hideyoshi’s rumbling voice cut through Makoto’s rambling. “Let Himura-san have some space to breathe at least, would you?”

Kenshin exhaled in relief, watching as Hideyoshi grabbed Makoto by the neck of his kimono and held the overly enthusiastic youth back. Kenshin gave him a slight nod in thanks, and walked past them both, heading upstairs to change. He truly appreciated Hideyoshi’s interference. After the solitude of the graveyard, having to listen and endure Chirpy right off the bat felt particularly arduous.

Sadly, he knew that Hideyoshi’s interference wouldn’t last long.

Today was a rare day where he, as well as rest of their unit, had the whole day off. Nakamura hadn’t been able to find a single miscellaneous errand for him to run, which spoke volumes about the current stalemate they had with Bakufu.

Both sides were waiting to see how the political infighting at the Imperial court turned out. For ordinary soldiers, this meant a respite from fighting. Of course, there was always the chance that disaster might strike and their assistance would be needed on short notice, but tonight that seemed a particularly far-off possibility.

For now, there was nothing to do.

Kenshin couldn’t help but feel restless. Nothing against the men in their unit, even Hideyoshi or Makoto, but they had been cooped up together for months now, gambling and listening to each other telling stories and jokes was becoming… well, not boring, not exactly. It was just that the war had been going on for so long and Kenshin felt like he had met everyone involved, one way or another. Even the Bakufu men were familiar faces to him at this point.

And somehow, the war just wasn’t ending.

Sure, as he’d told Tomoe, he knew that the Ishin Shishi were finally making progress. He had been guarding Katsura-san for several hours every week, so he knew all the advances that had been achieved in the past few months. The rebels were moving troops closer to the capital, armed with Western weapons. He’d been helping to smuggle guns into the city for months, in case they were ordered to attack the capitol en masse, finally bringing their shadow war out into the open.

But even if he knew that a great deal of progress was being made, he didn’t _really_ feel that any change was happening.

What good had all the fighting and killing done for the common people?

Kenshin was starting to fear that the answer was... nothing.

Yet he had given his word that he would fight in this mad war until the end. He had given his word to Katsura-san.

And so he fought. Killed. Night after night, while his convictions crumbled, he endured the guilt that threatened to swallow him alive, bit by bit.

The other fighters in his unit didn’t seem to share his troubles. Their mood was quite positive. Even the unit’s “baby”, the twenty-year-old Hideyoshi, had learned to fight as good as the best of them, able to feel joy from his achievements in battle. Makoto, too, had proven his worth in a fight.

So was Kenshin the only one who didn’t see the point in all this anymore?

Maybe he had been fighting in this war for too long.

…Maybe he was just getting old.

He was only _eighteen_ , the youngest in their unit – but he felt ancient.

Not that people realized that he was actually two years younger than Hideyoshi. Even Makoto hadn’t figured it out. He still thought Kenshin was around his age, twenty-two or twenty-three. It was a source of some amusement for Kenshin, a sort of game to distract and mislead Chirpy to the wrong conclusions.

True, he wasn’t one to lie and he still felt compelled to answer direct questions, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be _selective_ about the truth he spoke.

And really, every annoyance he could cause to the Chirpy idiot was entirely justified.

“I am dying!” Makoto declared out loud. “Dying, simply dyiiing of boredom. Hideyoshi, Pretty – you’ve _got_ to help me! You wouldn’t want me to die, would you?”

“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” Hideyoshi mused, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. What do you think, Himura-san?”

“O, err…” Kenshin mumbled, before giving up and simply shrugging awkwardly with one shoulder.    

“Rude! You guys are so rude. What have I ever done to you, huh?” Makoto harrumphed. “But in any case, as I was saying – it’s _boring_ here. Nothing’s happening. Nothing. At all. And I want to do something new. Hey, I know! Hideyoshi, remember that Tanaka fellow from last week when we were guarding that meeting, where he boasted about his skill with dice? How about we go and clear him out of his petty cash? I mean, between Pretty and me, he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Tanaka…” Hideyoshi frowned. “Tanaka-san was situated in an inn near Sanjo Dori, right?”

Kenshin blinked. He had stopped listening halfway through Makoto’s prattle, but now… there was a spark of enthusiasm in Hideyoshi’s eyes and his lips were curved into an anticipatory smile.

_Huh?_

Even Steady was interested?

“Yes, he was!” Makoto nodded sagely. “So, what do you think? We can take Pretty with us, can’t we? It’s already late and it’s one of our places, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, think about it! New place, new faces, new plump wallets to empty… It’s perfect, don’t you think? There isn’t anything to stop us from going there and inviting ourselves in!”

 _Uh oh…_ Kenshin gulped. “Orr-o, this one is not so sure that is a good idea, that he isn’t,” he said, even if he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Makoto was so caught up with his idea that he wouldn’t listen to him at all, especially now that Hideyoshi was looking like he was in too…

“Why not?” Hideyoshi smiled. “We are all going stir-crazy in here, and anyway, there is nothing scheduled for us. I mean, Himura-san – even you have a free night. If that doesn’t mean that there is nothing going on, then I don’t know what does. We’ve all seen how hard Nakamura is on you and if he couldn’t find a mission for you, there simply are none.”

Well… it wasn’t like Kenshin could deny that. So maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad?

And so it was decided. No matter how stupid of an idea it was, the three of them were going to visit another Ishin Shishi unit to gamble. Kenshin didn’t know which unit they were going to, but given that this excursion wasn’t going to be in an official capacity or connected to his job, he didn’t want to be recognized. So he combed out his long bangs to cover the scar on his left cheek and pinned the rest of his hair up on a loose bun with the comb Lady Ikumatsu had given him. And since he had already done up his hair, it seemed silly to stop halfway – so he changed into his purple kimono. However, he didn’t want to be mistaken for a girl, so he pulled on his gray hakama and slipped both of his swords into their place by his side.

The combination was quite – unique.

But his scar wasn’t showing and he was armed, so it would have to do.

“You really don’t look like Battousai when you do that to your hair,” Hideyoshi commented. “No matter how silly it looks.”

Kenshin looked aside. “It doesn’t work too well anymore, that it doesn’t. The color is too rare.”

They were waiting for Makoto near the entrance. Chirpy was late; apparently he was hunting for his lucky dice.

“Speaking of your hair color, how did that happen?” Hideyoshi asked. “I mean, I have only ever seen foreigners with red hair. Did you perhaps have one in your family?”

“Orr... o, this one doesn’t know,” Kenshin confessed, after a bit of a pause. “This unworthy one was the only odd one.”

“That’s unusual.” Hideyoshi frowned. “Maybe you were adopted? Some foreigner abandoned you as a baby and your folks took you in?”

Kenshin didn’t know how to answer that. There was logic in Steady’s words and it would explain a lot… except for the fact that Kenshin _did_ remember the village where he was born. Well, fragments of it. And it had been too remote a place for any foreigner to come across, even by mistake. But on the other hand, how could he know for sure? His family could have easily moved to the village after taking him in.

What a discouraging thought.

If that was true, he would never learn his ancestors’ names. It would cement that he was alone. No family, no clan, no true name. No roots of any sort. Only himself, alone – adrift on the winds of time.

Maybe that was for the best.

The person he had become would only bring dishonor and shame to any relative.

“I found my dice!” Makoto enthused. “Let’s go, guys! Let’s get going already! It’s time to fleece Takana and his men!”

 

* * *

 

“Orr o ro, no – this is NOT a good idea, that it isn’t,” Kenshin mumbled, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in the sight of the twenty or so samurai in the inn’s common room, drinking, gambling, joking around and sharing stories. By the sheer volume of the party, most of them were already drunk and there were even a couple of… err, ladies serving them. Hair done up in intricate styles, faces painted white, they could almost have passed for geiko or maiko, but Kenshin had learned enough from Lady Ikumatsu to spot the difference.

No, these ladies mimicked the art of geiko, but they were different. Their slender necks were bare, they flashed the pale skin on their wrists, their lips were curled into coy smiles, and the way they kept touching their patrons, teasing them, all but inviting them to, to…

Kenshin swallowed, feeling faint.

“Why is this a bad idea? Tanaka himself invited us in.” Makoto grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

Chirpy was pouring them all generous servings of sake and smiling like this was the best day of his life.

Even Hideyoshi didn’t seem to realize there was a problem.

 _For fuck’s sake!_ Kenshin leaned close to Makoto and hissed in his ear, “These men are from _Satsuma_!”

“So?” Makoto asked, baffled. “We are from Aki, what’s the issue? Just calm down, Pretty, and relax. This will be a fun night!”

Kenshin buried his face in the crook of his arms, and let out a muffled “oro”. Despite his best attempt to stay calm, his fingers flexed on the handle of his katana where he held it against his left shoulder.  

Of course, the chirpy idiot didn’t remember that Kenshin _wasn’t_ from Aki.

Thank god that these last four years in Kyoto’s melting pot had shaved off most of his rural accent, a process that had been helped along by his fascination with the archaic humble speech patterns used by old-fashioned samurai.

But still, _everyone_ knew that Hitokiri Battousai was from Choshuu.

He really, really should leave. He should have left the second he realized that the inn was patronized by Satsuma men, but he had been too shocked to react. And now, how could he leave without causing a scene?

“Ah, Makoto! You did come to visit, just like you promised, and you even brought friends with you! Welcome, welcome!” An older samurai, notably thick in the waist and with a big grin on his face, approached them. “Are you boys ready to show off your skill with the dice?”

“You bet, Tanaka!” Makoto declared loudly, and grabbed Kenshin by the shoulder in a very familiar hold. “Please, sit with us! Me and Pretty are all ready to clean out your pockets!”

The sudden touch made Kenshin sit up, ramrod straight, as shivers of disgust raced down his spine. Thankfully, on Makoto’s other side, Hideyoshi noticed Kenshin’s reaction and poked Makoto. Without a word, Makoto let go and dug into his kimono folds, pulling out his famous lucky dice.  

Tanaka-san laughed. “Such enthusiasm! You are definitely welcome to try, boys!

And so, they started playing.

As far as gambling went, the game wasn’t bad. Makoto made for a good show, entertaining the group even as he maintained a winning streak. Kenshin entertained himself by trying to predict the dice the best he could, managing it often enough that he was making more money than he lost.

In a way, Kenshin could now see why people found these sorts of parties enjoyable. Slowly but surely, even he was starting to relax. These people didn’t know him. They didn’t fear him. Most likely they thought that he was Makoto’s… err, companion. At least, given the looks they got whenever Chirpy said something flirty or touched him.

Kenshin didn’t like the idea, but it allowed the men here to dismiss him as unimportant and caused them to ignore the similarities he shared with Kyoto’s most well-known horror story. So, he was desperately trying not to let Makoto’s easy familiarity get to him.

Unfortunately, the sake being served seemed to have no limit, and Makoto was enthusiastically taking advantage of the free booze.

Given the company, Kenshin couldn’t possibly pass on alcohol either, not without risking insulting their host. He took tiny sips, trying to drink as slowly as he could.

So what if people thought him odd and girlish for doing so?

He wasn’t going to get drunk in a situation as unpredictable as this. It certainly didn’t help that it had been ages since he had last drunk anything, and that out of all the people at the party, he was easily the smallest.

A true lightweight, as Makoto had mockingly declared when he had defended his chaste drinking.

“Say, Makoto’s pretty little friend… what was your name again? I never quite caught it?” Tanaka inquired, a benevolent smile on his face.

Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat. This was the first time he’d been directly addressed, so he couldn’t refuse to answer. But what could he say? Among the rebels, Hitokiri Battousai was as commonly known as Himura Battousai. Um, right… Trying to smile, he murmured softly, “This unworthy is called Kenshin, so he is.”

“Kenshin? Like devotion? That’s a nice name. Suits you.” Tanaka nodded absently and took another sip of his sake. “Say, you fight for the cause also? Because, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but for the life of me I cannot remember _where_.”

“…orr o,” Kenshin tensed. “Well, um… this unworthy one does a lot of bodyguard jobs, that he does. Easy work, mainly involving waiting around and looking fancy. Sir Tanaka could have seen this unworthy one during one of those jobs, that he could,” he explained, trying to pass it off. The last thing he needed was to be recognized and forced to fight, so the less these people thought of him, the better.

“Looking fancy?” Tanaka let out an amused guffaw. “I can see that, a pretty little thing like you. And if you can use that toothpick of a sword at all, it probably works marvelously as a surprise tactic.”  

Kenshin tried to keep smiling, not letting his growing annoyance show. His expression probably looked terribly fake, but…

“Oh, Tanaka – shut it. Pretty is damn good with a blade. They have him desperately overworked at our unit, the poor thing. It’s stupid, though. I could do a lot of the jobs Pretty runs. It’s very unfair that the higher ups keep giving some people more jobs than the others, don’t you think? We got this weasel of a superior who just loves making our lives difficult. He gives shit hours and we rarely get enough time to rest. Can you imagine having a superior like that?”

Thankfully, Makoto’s intervention was enough to draw Tanaka’s attention to the favorite pastime of all soldiers: grumbling about their superiors. The older Satsuma samurai eagerly took the bait, and so the conversation moved on, needing little input from Kenshin except for a few nods and an agreeing or disagreeing sound at appropriate intervals.

However, as he listened and watched the conversation unfold, Kenshin slowly began to realize something about Makoto.

No matter how outrageous, rude, and loud the Chirpy acted… he wasn’t stupid.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Whenever people tried to engage Kenshin in conversation, or inquire about something that Kenshin didn’t know how to answer, Makoto would step in and interrupt them, distracting them and guiding the conversation elsewhere.

It was almost like… Makoto’s loud and dramatic acting was just that: an act.

Kenshin simply hadn’t realized it before now.

Sure, a large part of Makoto’s one man show had to be genuine. No one could fake an entire personality, not so consistently, and for such a long time. But it was like with Ito-san’s use of subtle lies and half-truth. Everything was so smoothly mixed together that people couldn’t keep track of where the truth ended and the lie began.  

Frowning, Kenshin glanced at Hideyoshi who was following Makoto’s spectacle with a smile.

Steady was probably the only one who could see where Makoto’s act truly began, what was a convenient lie and what was genuine. It was not entirely dissimilar to the morning when Kenshin and Ito-san had been captured by those Mimawarigumi rookies and Kenshin had been the only one who could follow the truth in Ito-san’s speech.

But right here and now – honestly, even in their unit – all anyone else could see in Makoto was a loud and brazen young man whose outrageous behavior was entertaining to follow. They dismissed him as a harmless idiot, not someone to watch out for, and this allowed Makoto to go anywhere, talk to anyone, even people he really had no business talking to. And hadn’t Hideyoshi said that Chirpy swindled him into the rebel troops, despite the fact that Steady wasn’t a samurai?

Huh.

Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek as another thought sprung to his mind: hadn’t Lady Ikumatsu suggested that he do the same thing when he wanted to go out on the town?

She had… hadn’t she?

Looking at it now from the sidelines, Makoto’s act did work like a charm. The samurai he was ripping off of their hard-won pay with his outrageous luck, they were from Satsuma. No matter that Makoto and Hideyoshi were originally from Aki, they had joined _Choshuu_ forces.

By all reason and logic, shouldn’t that cause trouble?

Most definitely.

And yet, Makoto and Hideyoshi had even swindled Kenshin into the party with them, which was pretty remarkable now that he thought about it. But no one here was paying attention to the obvious. These Satsuma samurai should bear a grudge against them, even by association. But they didn’t. Instead, they were cheerfully sharing their party, booze, food, and all, with three strangers, no questions asked.

However, Kenshin wasn’t sure he could do what Makoto was doing.

He just… wasn’t that outgoing.

Talking so easily, letting out the first thought that came to his mind with no consideration to the weight of his words?

Such a thing would be impossible for him.

But that wasn’t the point, was it?

The core of Makoto’s act was to be _loud_ , and therefore, invisible. If Kenshin could learn to do that, if he could make it to work for him, it would solve a lot of his problems. So Kenshin tore his focus away from his musings and to the present, and for the first time, he paid attention to the Chirpy idiot with utter seriousness.

“…but the most hilarious thing I ever saw was when Battousai dropped an entire squad of Shinsengumi into a river. I mean, everyone knows he’s made an art of the trick: just a couple lightning-fast slashes to the wooden flooring and _boom_! The bridge breaks apart and everyone gets a nice cool dunk! But damn, when I saw it myself, it was just… beautiful. It’s a memory so fond that I’ll cherish it until my dying day. You see, by doing that, Battousai forced the whole squad of Mibu’s wolves to explain their shame to their commanders. I mean, I would love to kill them all, I really would, but in a way… ensuring their humiliation is even better.” Throughout the story, Makoto was waving his hands enthusiastically, his honey-brown eyes sparkling with glee.

Kenshin tensed up. _What the hell Makoto was doing?_ _This was just about the worst possible choice of topic for conversation!_

“True enough, though I can’t say I care too much for Choshuu or their over-regarded killer.” Tanaka said. “I have been here in the Capital for quite some time now and never once have I seen even a flash of that legendary hitokiri. I bet the rumors of him are exaggerated.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Makoto grinned. “I have seen Battousai. Hey, don’t look at me like that – I have. I really have and that guy, _damn_ can he fight. He is so fast that it’s impossible to see him move. One moment he is there and the next he is across the street and a dozen guys are dead. I don’t know how he does it, but it’s ridiculous. What would I give to learn how to do that?” Makoto grumbled, but a second later, “Aha, and there it is! I win yet again! Pay up, buckos!”

Chirpy leaned in to collect his winnings with deep bows and exaggeratedly polite gestures that were so over the top that it bordered on mocking. But no one was insulted. No one cared. The men simply let the insult pass with a smile and handed over their money to Makoto.

Then one of the… uh, ladies who were there to um, entertain the men decided to move over to their group. The men welcomed her with cheerful catcalls and she smiled amiably, accepting their enthusiasm gracefully, evaluating where to settle down…

“Hey, beautiful,” Tanaka called to her. “I think there is a good place for you over here, next to Makoto’s young friend.” And he pointed directly to the empty space Kenshin had painstakingly tried to create between him and the closest Satsuma samurai to his left. It was where he had taken refuge whenever Makoto’s passes had started to feel too much, but now –

“Thank you! I’d be pleased to sit with you, gentle sirs,” the lady demurred, and moved to kneel delicately right beside Kenshin, arranging her intricate kimono so that it flowed right and wouldn’t get wrinkled.

All her controlled, well-practiced movements, even her cherry perfume, brought up memories. The reminder wasn’t pleasant. No, this lady’s practiced manner, her perfume and carefully chosen garb, were so far from Tomoe’s natural elegance that the difference was jarring, almost violently different from the little bit of happiness Kenshin struggled to harbor in his heart.

His Tomoe… _she_ had been elegant, but reserved. A real lady. But this girl beside him, she was blatant in her intentions.

Kenshin straightened his back, trying not to show his distaste.

Makoto leaned in close to him, whispering in his ear. “Say, Pretty – if you really don’t care for my attentions, then how about hers? Every man should experience some enjoyment. The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve never once looked at a pretty thing. That’s not normal at all.”

Kenshin’s breath caught, and he turned to Chirpy.

Instead of saying more, Makoto gave him a pointed look, nodded towards the entertainer to Kenshin’s left, and raised his brow expectantly.

The weight of Makoto’s not-so-subtle hint, the situation he was in, the social expectations therein… Gods! It felt like a cage settling around him, trapping him tighter than any shackle.

Everyone around him was smiling and enjoying themselves, engaged by the gambling, conversation, and free alcohol.

And here he was on the verge of panicking, just because he had someone sitting on either side of him.

_Normal?_

It was anything but normal. Kenshin was well aware of that.

Any sane man should be able to handle this. True, he wasn’t a shining example of sanity even on his best day, but he wasn’t mad either. He wasn’t! Not like Nakamura was trying to paint him out to be.

So did Makoto have a point?

All the men Kenshin had ever heard talking about physical intimacy were of the opinion that it was the best thing there was.

And back then, in Otsu… Kenshin, too, had enjoyed those things, with _her_.

Now, any touch, no matter how well-intentioned, felt off-putting to him. Even when he could stop himself from shying away from casual touches, he certainly didn’t feel any pleasure from them. And yes, he could always reason that when Chirpy touched him it didn’t count – after all, Chirpy was a man and Kenshin didn’t care for men, not like that – but surely he should still be capable of liking a woman’s attention?

…Or was he broken?

Kenshin gave a discreet glance to the girl kneeling on his left. She looked and behaved like as was expected of a girl of her status and profession. Her manner was not the most refined or elegant, nothing like that of the fine courtesans he saw when following Katsura-san to a meeting of Ishin Shishi leadership, nor any of the geiko or maiko he had seen when going to visit Lady Ikumatsu.

Instead, this girl, she was, well… _easy_ with her attentions. Her smile was flirty, her glances assessing, and her gestures inviting, like any of her touches didn’t bear any particular significance to her, but were just a means to an end.

So, as the gambling in their group continued and the girl to his left started to inch closer to him – leaning against him, trailing her fingers on his left arm – Kenshin allowed her touches. He didn’t say anything, didn’t let out a hint of protest, even when she started to grow bolder.

He had no interest in her.

As cruel as it was, he only wanted to find out if he _could_ tolerate her touch. To see if she could bring out even a hint of excitement or desire in him.

With Tomoe, in their little paradise, their physical intimacy had been so easy, natural… the most perfect thing. Gods, how he missed those moments with her, seeing her black eyes grow wide, sweat glisten on her milky skin. And her breasts – oh, he had really loved her breasts; playing with them, feeling their softness in his hands, nibbling on them and teasing her pert nipples until they were glistening with his saliva, all red and stiff.

A gentle curve of bosom pressed against his left arm, and Kenshin closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation.

Back then, he hadn’t really needed much to get the liquid fire flowing inside him. All it had really taken was the feel her soft skin, or her breathless moan…

“You are a very handsome man, gentle sir,” the girl whispered huskily in his ear. Her warm breath tickled the side of his neck, and her fingers trailed down his shoulder, sweeping behind his back and reaching to pull him in an embrace. And suddenly, bile rose in his throat, the feeling of thousand disgusting legs crawled over his skin, and the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stood up.

It was hundred times worse than any of Makoto’s frequent attempts.

Kenshin swallowed, trying to keep breathing, trying to chase away the feeling of revulsion.

Gods, why was it like this?

Why was it so much worse than with Makoto?

He had thought he could handle Chirpy because he wasn’t in any way, shape, or form attracted to the idiot. A man’s touch should be more off-putting than a woman’s, shouldn’t it?

“Say, Pretty – I wonder, do you have a girl in town, or who is it that you are always bringing flowers?” Makoto asked from his right, leaning closer to him – boxing him in.

Kenshin gasped, but his throat was tight, like there was something blocking his breath…

And people were looking at him, expecting him to speak.

Cold sweat flowed down his brow, as he fought down the wave of panic threatening to overtake him.

 _Breathe! Just breathe, you idiot!_ He told himself firmly. _You can’t lose it here. You can’t._

_But fuck!_

_Why in the fucking hells did Makoto have to bring_ her _up now?_ Fury stirring, he flexed his fingers on his katana, seeking something solid to ground him. He had no intention whatsoever of sharing his most precious memories with any of these people.

“Orr o, it’s nothing.” He hid his eyes behind his long bangs and murmured softly, trying to sound disinterested. “Just someone this one tries to visit as often as he can, that’s all.”

“You buy your lady friend flowers? How romantic! Would you buy flowers for me?” The girl reached over to sweep his long bangs aside coyly, and cradled his left cheek…

Just. Like. _She._ Had. Always. Done.

The feeling of disgust became far too much to bear and Kenshin shot upright, detangling himself from her slimy touches and snarled, “She was my _wife_ and she is _DEAD_.”

It was like everything stopped at that moment.

The girl stared at him from the floor where she had fallen, her eyes huge with shock. “That scar…”

 _“Married?”_ Makoto’s exclaimed, “You were _married?!_!”

And Kenshin… just couldn’t deal with it. He simply couldn’t. Not with everyone staring at him like he had gone bat-shit crazy. He had to get away. But he couldn’t. There was no place to run. So he buried his face to his hands and tried to breathe: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… desperately struggling to shut out the world and the stares and the people.

But then, Hideyoshi’s faint ki was there, warm but worried. “Kenshin. Hey, are you alright?”

And that presence, somehow it was familiar enough that he could concentrate on it, fight back the panic, enough to face his friend.

Steady was there.

He was not alone.

“I… I’m sorry,” Kenshin whispered, a wave of shame flooding in. He really was a wreck of a human being. But Steady’s presence was enough that he could orient himself and realize that his face was covered in cold sweat. He swept his face dry with his sleeve, numb with embarrassment and shame.

“It’s not a problem,” Hideyoshi assured him, and stepped backwards, giving him room to stand up. “Now come on. Let’s take a breather.”

 

* * *

 

They found a quiet corner on the inn’s second story balcony, and without further word, they leaned against the railing. The balcony overlooked the backyard, but from this high up they could see past the fence separating the inn’s property from the lively city centre. The winter night was cold, the circle of the moon visible in the cloudless sky. At a distance, the lantern lights danced across the dark rooftops.

Bit by bit, Kenshin found he could breathe easier.

The incident in the common room… he should apologize. Especially to the girl. He had pushed her aside so rudely. He could have hurt her! It wasn’t her fault that he was a freak, a failure, and a terribly selfish idiot on top of that.

It was just that Makoto’s questions had brought up his worst fears and doubts, that’s all.

Hideyoshi cleared his throat awkwardly, cutting through his melancholy, “So your wife died, huh?”

Kenshin closed his eyes, then exhaled softly and whispered, “Yes. Almost three years ago, that she did.” It had been _years_ since her death, and yet, the wound was still raw. Even the simple admission hurt.

He didn’t want to speak about this, but he was ashamed of his outburst earlier, and besides, Hideyoshi had always been reasonable. He was good at just being there when people needed him.

“That’s too bad. I’m sorry for your loss.” Hideyoshi said. “It must be terribly hard to keep fighting when burdened by that kind of loss. I mean, I fight for a girl. I fight to make this world a better place for her… and after everything is settled, I will seek her out. I am not expecting anything, but it would be nice if she had a place for me in her heart, if I could try to win her good regard. Settle down with her, have a home and a family. There’s always after the war...”

It was hard not to be jealous of the picture Hideyoshi had painted with his words. After all, it was not unlike the hesitant hopes Kenshin had entertained himself only… well, a lifetime ago. That beautiful dream was beyond his reach now. He’d had his chance and he had ruined it in the worst way possible.

Kenshin was distantly aware that most people were able to try again, to see beyond the horror of the present and hope for something better. Some people were capable of letting go of their sorrow and finding other lovers…

So it wasn’t like that dream was impossible, not in theory.

But for him?

It felt like far too much to ask.

True, during these three years he, too, had thought about life after the war and the horror, when he could stop killing. The trouble was that he didn’t have any other skills besides his swordsmanship. All he knew was war.

Did it matter?

How sweet would it be to abandon his blade? To leave everything he knew behind him and to settle down in the middle of nowhere, where people had never heard of Battousai, of the Ishin Shishi, and knew nothing of war? There, even a failure like him could start again and live his days in peace, seeking to help others.

It would be a good life.

 _She_ would approve of that, of him seeking atonement for his sins by helping others.

The thought ached like salt in an open wound and Kenshin gasped, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“When one had found the most perfect person in the world… and then lost her, how could one ever think of another?” he heard his voice speak.

Hideyoshi didn’t answer.

Kenshin didn’t turn to look. He didn’t need to see to know that Steady’s eyes held empathy, compassion. It was his nature.

“I’ll tell Makoto to stop flirting with you.”

“…orr o?”

“It’s okay. He will listen to me, “ Hideyoshi said softly. “But you know, he doesn’t mean it badly.”

Right then, Kenshin knew that if he gave the tiniest acknowledgment, it would all stop. Hideyoshi was good to his word and if there was one person in the world whose good opinion Chirpy didn’t dare to jeopardize, it was him.

Gods, it was one of the most tempting offers Kenshin had ever heard in his life.

No more harassment. No more uncomfortable moments or awkwardness. He would be alone once more, in his own comfortable bubble of numbness that had allowed him to survive thus far.

But he wasn’t numb anymore, was he?

He did his job, weathered the pain in his heart, the nightmares and constant worries… but after that, when he returned to his unit, there were always two persistent tag-alongs waiting for him. He couldn’t say he appreciated most of Makoto’s and Hideyoshi’s chit chat or attempts to draw him into engaging with others. He honestly would prefer to have more peace and quiet in his days.

But at the same time…

“No, it’s alright. This unworthy one can handle it, that he can.”

...He was slowly starting to feel alive again.

It wasn’t a nice or an easy road, but Hideyoshi’s and Makoto’s pushy friendship _was_ helping him.

And as awkward as it was, it was a bit flattering to have such a persistent admirer in Makoto. Not that he reciprocate the feeling, of course he didn’t. But, Makoto was… different. He was nothing like _her_ , not in personality, looks, or mannerism, and nothing he did could threaten to tarnish the memories of her that Kenshin held dear. Not to mention that Makoto’s frequent touches, as annoying and awkward as they were, were helping Kenshin to learn how to handle closeness and touch again.

Maybe it was enough to hope that one day he wouldn’t freak out over such a simple thing anymore?

“Truly?” Hideyoshi gasped in surprise. “I… I wasn’t sure. I mean, Fujiwara did say that you were _like that_ – but that talk about your wife…”

“You mean the rumor that this unworthy one prefers intimacy with men?” Kenshin couldn’t help but snort. “That came from a misunderstanding, that it did. This unworthy one didn’t know what mentoring meant and when Fujiwara-san asked if one was being mentored by our former superior, one admitted to it, when in truth all we ever shared was a few conversations about swordsmanship.”

“…oh.”

Hideyoshi looked so lost.

Kenshin huffed and the corners of his lips tugged upwards in a pale imitation of a smile. “Besides, Makoto would die if he couldn’t flirt, so he would. Better that he does it to someone who isn’t going to punch him in the face.”

“That’s so true it hurts.” Hideyoshi burst into guffaws. “Oh gods, you don’t even know how many fights I’ve seen Makoto get into because of that habit of his.”

Warm fondness spreading inside him, Kenshin smiled, this time for real. “Maybe we should go back and save Chirpy before he gets into another one, that is?”

“Chirpy, eh?” Hideyoshi raised his brow, but his gaze was soft. Genuine.

Kenshin blushed and looked aside. “Orr o, well, that’s what this unworthy one often calls Makoto-san in his head, that he does.”

“I like it. So, who am I?”

“Ah, well, um, this one…Oro! Steady,” Kenshin stammered, hiding his eyes behind his long bangs.

“…I see. Well, if Makoto is Chirpy and I am Steady, then you are definitely Odd.” Hideyoshi huffed, his ki warm with acceptance. And then, he straightened his tall frame and turned, motioning with his hand towards the doorway.

Kenshin took the hint and followed him back inside.

The inn’s second floor corridors were empty, but he could feel a few presences towards the far end, in private rooms. The light of the oil lamps shone through the rice paper walls, faint voices came through, muffled by the distance. It seemed that the inn hosted more people than just the Satsuma samurai partying in the common room.

Or perhaps some people had gotten tired of the loud party and had sought solace on the upper floors?  

Not a bad idea, given that the party downstairs had gotten even louder…

But as they stepped down the stairs, Kenshin realized that all his guesses were wrong – they were already too late, because Makoto’s ability to cause trouble had exceeded their wildest expectations.

Somehow, in the time that he and Hideyoshi had been gone, the cheerful party of twenty samurai had transformed into a honest-to-god drunken brawl.

_Oh, dear…_

It was an astonishing sight, truly.

Everyone in the room was grabbing, hitting, and wrestling anyone they could reach, shouting and laughing in mad euphoria. At least no one was dead. Well, Kenshin was pretty sure no one was dead – a few people were lying on the floor, unconscious, but there was no blood, nor any missing limbs.

It was dreadfully easy to cut off someone’s extended limb, if not on purpose, then by accident.

…Yet no one had drawn their blades.

Kenshin couldn’t help but stare in disbelief.

Makoto was right in the middle of the mess, wrestling with someone who looked suspiciously like their host, Tanaka-san. Oh, yes – it was Tanaka. Their host had quite a few pounds on the tall, lean Makoto, but they were both drunk off their asses and it seemed that Chirpy had decided he wasn’t going down quietly, because he was howling incoherently and throwing indiscriminate punches.

Hideyoshi shot Kenshin a grin, and charged right into the melee to help his friend.

Kenshin had no idea what to do.

Honestly, as far as fights went, it didn’t look that dangerous. More like an enthusiastic, if somewhat vicious, friendly tumble.

Without his say, his feet took a step into the room.

What could he do to end this madness?

Everyone here had a weapon. If he drew his blade, he would only antagonize them further, likely escalating the situation. He didn’t want to threaten them with his ki, either. It was such a rare skill, and what would happen if they found out he was Battousai?

But what else could he do?

He was five feet one, weighing a bit under ninety pounds. In that brawl, the other men would crush him.

Perhaps he should shout?

In this racket? With his voice?

Ugh, how about _no._

Thankfully, Hideyoshi didn’t look like he needed much help with Makoto…

A presence flared on his immediate right and Kenshin turned, only to see a sake bottle flying right at his head. He barely managed to dodge it, only to fall into the brawl, spinning to escape the outreached fists and people and miscellaneous items coming towards him. There was no time to think, he could only react, trusting his deeply ingrained reflexes keep him out of harm’s way.

It was almost… fun?

Sure, there was a definite risk of injury, but this was much less dangerous than a sword fight. So he dodged, jumped, twisted, and danced, trying to make his way to Hideyoshi and Makoto. Both of them were in the heart of this mess, seemingly having the time of their lives – at least if their exhilarated grins were anything to go by. Oh boy. Chirpy was messed up, his lip split and bleeding, his right eye swelling shut. Not that it seemed to slow him down any…

“Pretty! There you are!” Makoto cheered.

“We should get out of here, that we should!” Kenshin shouted in answer, dodging yet another fist coming his way.

Makoto, the brazen idiot, just winked at him. “Sure, sure – lessee if we can manage that.”

“Less chit chat, more action!” Hideyoshi growled and wrestled down another Satsuma samurai. “Let’s just push through. You guys got everything with you?”

“Yes!” Kenshin yelped. “Just move already!”

Hideyoshi grinned and pushed into mass of men like a charging bull, clearing the way for the stumbling Makoto and Kenshin. They had almost gotten through, when a voice shouted from the staircase, “What the fuck is going on here?! You battle-loving idiots, stop it! I said STOP IT!!!”

And then, a wave of ki flared – so sudden and freezing cold, that even the most spiritually numb samurai could feel something. The effect was drastic.

“Oh shit…!”

“FUCK!”

“It’s Sakamoto!!!”

Everyone froze – the Satsuma samurai, Kenshin, Hideyoshi, and Makoto – everyone in the room stopped right in the middle of the fight and turned to stare at him.

The man flaring his ki was Sakamoto Ryoma-san, one of the of the most influential men in the whole capital. The same man who had brokered the peace between Choshuu and Satsuma. He was all red in the face, heaving for breath, his ki unleashed and flaring more intensely than anything Kenshin had felt since he left the mountain and Hiko.

Then Sakamoto took a deep, if ragged breath. “I don’t want to know what you were doing. I truly don’t. But when I leave, this fight – it’s over. Is that clear?”

The men stared, gobsmacked.

Seconds passed, the silence dragging on and on… and slowly people stood up straighter and relaxed their hold on their improvised weapons: pillows, sake jars, even a table that one big guy had grabbed. The few who were still holding their enemies in chokeholds and wrestling poses let go, too. No one said a thing, but the air was awkward.

Sakamoto-san had enough power and say among all the clans who fought for the rebels that disobeying a direct command from him would not only embarrass the perpetrators, but also their clan.

And worse, everyone here knew it.

“Good. Now, I will need someone to escort me back to my lodgings.” Sakamoto-san announced loudly and trailed his gaze across the disheveled crowd.

Men shied away from his stare, ashamed of their sorry state: most of them had bruises swelling on their faces, topknots mussed, their clothing stained with sweat, grime, and sake…

Kenshin too looked aside, but for an entirely different reason.

“Himura-san? What the hell is a Choshuu man doing here?”

 _Urgh!_ Kenshin groaned and looked up.

The people around him were staring at him like they had seen a ghost, the fastest of them already stepping backwards to make room.

“Ah, well…” Kenshin cringed. “This unworthy one…”

“No matter. You’ll do.” Sakamoto-san decided. “In fact, you are perfect. You look like you are mostly sober – I wager not a single one of these slouches here would be up to the task, anyway. I assume Kido-san won’t mind if I borrow your sword for a short errand, will he?”

“Orr o –  well, no. Not really,” Kenshin stammered.

Around him, whispers sprung to life:

“…Himura?”

“Choshuu?”

“Red hair…?”

“Holy shit, that’s Battousai!”

His stomach twisting with dread, Kenshin turned to Hideyoshi. The tall youth shrugged uncomfortably, which was answer enough.

They both knew that Kenshin couldn’t refuse the command.

Even if he wasn’t in his best form, he was still in better shape than any other available option, and Sakamato-san was too important to go unescorted. After all, Sakamoto-san was among the Bakufu’s most hunted, even now that the fighting had mostly calmed down.

So Kenshin gritted his teeth, slipped his hand into his sleeve, fished out his hair tie, and let his long hair fall loose from the bun. With practiced motions he brushed his bangs away from his face and left cheek, then gathered his long tresses up into his customary high tail. Without looking back, he adjusted the paired swords on his waist and walked to the door.

One never knew when duty would call, and no matter how inconvenient, he was sworn to the cause.

Sakamoto-san nodded at him respectfully, gave a final assessing glance to the crowd behind them, and followed Kenshin out into the night.

Thankfully Sakamoto-san’s hideout wasn’t too far away, only a few miles from the Satsuma rebel inn, within the Kawaramachi district. Apparently he was staying in a soy seller named Omiya’s storehouse. It was not the best place to stay, but it was drabby enough that the Bakufu likely wouldn’t look for him there. All the Bakufu’s most hunted needed to hide out in places like this, at least until the worst of the danger was over. The locations were always a secret, known only by a select few.

A friend named Nakaoka-san was waiting for Sakamoto-san at the storehouse.

“It was fortunate that I happened to come across you over there, Himura-san.” Sakamoto-san smiled to Kenshin knowingly. “It seemed that most of my Satsuma friends were a little under the weather.”

“It wasn’t a problem, so it wasn’t.” Honestly, after their walk, it seemed that Sakamoto himself might be under the weather, given the subtle coughs he’d let out throughout their walk – and no wonder, given the stress he was under. Katsura had also been a little worse for wear in the past few days.

“Well, thank you anyway. I appreciate your help.” Sakamoto-san said. “Though the Shogun has resigned, the rebellion is far from over. It’s going to be a difficult winter for us and I fear this conflict won’t be resolved bloodlessly, despite our best efforts. But I won’t keep you any longer.”

Recognizing a dismissal when he heard it, Kenshin nodded and turned to leave, only to glance once more over his left shoulder…

Sakamoto-san followed his friend in the storehouse.

Kenshin sighed, and left.

It was true what Sakamoto-san had said. No matter what he and many others had hoped, the Shogun’s formal resignation had yet to determine anything. The Tokugawa were still in power, with people who still listened to them and many stalwart supporters.

And the rebels… the rebels were still rebels, not the leaders of a new world.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the fifteenth day of the tenth month, Kenshin woke late, with his head aching and exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders.

It was like he hadn’t managed to sleep at all.

Worse, his stomach was protesting at the very thought of rising and moving around. He hadn’t drunk that much, had he? Yet he felt the familiar ache of a hangover, making him unsteady on his feet and thirsty as a horse.  

Last night, he had gotten back to the inn just before dawn, where he had found Chirpy and Steady in the lobby of their inn. Both of them were roughed up from the brawl, drunk and all but dozing on their asses, but they had waited for him.

It had felt good.

Now though, Kenshin was wishing he had never even gone to the party. Why had he, anyway? Oh wait –  it was because no one had given him the option to refuse.

Argh!

He should have just said _no_.

He really should have.

Anything would have been better than to suffer through this feeling…

A bland breakfast and lukewarm tea helped to ease his stomach a bit, but he had to force himself to eat. Blergh. He stared ahead numbly, trying hard to keep picking at his food.

“Good morning…” Makoto mumbled and yawned, before adding, “...Pretty.”

Kenshin looked up, blinking blearily.

Makoto’s face was a mess. The entire right side of his face was swollen and covered in purple bruises, and his split lip looked quite nasty. Okay, the Chirpy had woken up – so where was his other half?

...Oh. There.

Hideyoshi lumbered down the stairs, heading towards their table on unsteady feet. Wordlessly, he slumped and sat down with enough force to shake the tea saucers.

People were looking at them, not even bothering to be subtle about their interest.

Not that Kenshin blamed them. He, Makoto, and Hideyoshi were probably quite the sight, all three of them. Thankfully, even Chirpy was too tired to carry on a conversation on a morning like this.

Small blessings.

Kenshin was dozing in and out at the breakfast table, not really paying too much attention to the people around them, when a commotion broke out at the doorway. And then… Oh, hell, what was Nakamura doing here this early in the morning? The weasel was marching directly towards Kenshin, his smile wide, like he had won something.

“Himura!” he shouted.

Kenshin covered his ear with one hand and glowered at Nakamura. Seriously, what was the man’s issue? But he still had enough manners left that he straightened himself, sitting up properly, and faced his superior’s smirk.

“There are summons for you, Himura.” Nakamura announced loudly, for everyone in the common room to hear. “Kido, Saigo, and the rest of the Ishin Shishi leadership demand to hear your account of last night.”

Kenshin blinked. “...Oro?”

“Whatever for?” Makoto demanded to Kenshin’s left. “We didn’t do anything bad! It was just a brawl with some Satsuma fellows. No one even got hurt!”

“ _No one even got hurt_.” Nakamura mimicked mockingly and then smirked at Kenshin. “Well, no one… except for Sakamoto Ryoma-san. He was assassinated last night. And guess what? According to Saigo-san, the last person to see him alive was you, Himura-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by Animaniacal in 16.7.2017.
> 
> Sorry that this is so late! I have been dreadfully busy at work - but I'll promise to make some time in my calendar during my summer vacation and rewrite the next chapter. (So hopefully, the next update wouldn't take quite as long).


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